The She-Wolf of Erebor
by TheLadyAranel
Summary: Beryl Daughter of Dain is married off to Thorin's nephew in exchange for an army. Outraged at being used Beryl bends the knee for the sake of being Queen under the Mountain one day. But can she become Queen when there is no mountain and her betrothed doesn't even attend the wedding? For Beryl it won't be easy yet along the way she may learn to love Fíli, if he ever reconciles to it
1. Married Off

**TheLadyAranel**

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**The She-Wolf of Erebor**

**Chapter**** One:**

**Married Off**

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The gathering of the seven clans was over and with it Beryl's fate sealed. There was no turning back now, not even if she fought her father tooth and nail to change the outcome. Besides, Dain was never one to uproot his conscience once something had been planted firmly in his head. And as the gods would have it, Dain had decided on a very high match for his daughter. A match, he said, so auspicious it could bring nothing but furthermost favor with the King of the Mountain. This in plain speech meant more titles, wealth, and everything that came with it; thrust upon them in the most gracious of handfuls. As long as Beryl did her honorable part in obeying her superiors that is. And why wouldn't she? All of her life the dwarven princess had been reared to obey her father, and consent to whatever match he saw fit. What she wasn't prepared for though, was a match neither quite like this nor to have her dowry given to her lord husband's _uncle_ in the form of an army. Beryl it seemed was nothing but a bargaining chip in a high stake gamble to reclaim a lost kingdom. It would be a cousin to marry a cousin, to gain an army. (Though Thorin had politely refused Beryl's hand on account of age, he was quick to offer his sister's son Fíli.) Dain had seen this as safe enough if just second best—after all, the boy was heir presumptive—not a bad match at all. So for the life of him, Dain Ironfoot could not grasp the hesitance in his meek daughter's disposition to the news.

"You should thank me for what I've done for you, ungrateful child." He spat, standing from his great chair of estate. "Many young girls would fight for the chance to wed and bed an heir of Durin!" Such a comment made Beryl blush and raise her eyes from her feet to challenge her father's gaze.

"Am I not an heir of Durin myself, my lord?" A bold and saucy thing to say make no mistake, but Beryl's belly burned with the same tenacity that flared in all Durin's folk. "And as an heir of Durin myself, I hardly see it fair to use me because of my sex, to meet a greater end: a benefit only made to bring glory to you." She ended her words with eyes on Thorin, who consequently was in the hearing room. He did not seem so quick to anger at her hesitance as Beryl's father had. In fact, Thorin Oakenshield tried to reason with the youngling by basing her uneasiness and stubbornness on age and fear of the marriage bed.

"Little cousin," He spoke softly, letting his bottom slip into a lavish chair next to a grand fire, while adjusting a large ring on his hand. "We will forgive such outbursts. It isn't your fault that with your young age comes rebellious thinking and speech. It happens to us all at one point or another in our lives." Thorin paused just then, to see if Beryl would meet his gaze and hold it; she hadn't. "But you must remember, as you yourself said, we are heirs of Durin. That means as a princess of the blood you must do your part in seeing our clan thrive once again in our homelands."

Oakenshield could see his little speech was having no effect on the young girl, which meant this business transaction between Dain and him was treading on the thinnest of ice. He would have to come up with something to persuade this young fire-start to yield and fast. Without Dain's army to back him once his party reached Erebor, there would be no hope. He'd be damned if he'd let Beryl ruin this for him. "You will be treated well I promise; Fíli is a good lad who will make you a fine husband. Does the thought of becoming queen consort one day displease you?" He saw her eyes shift with anticipation. Thorin had her there.

"No sir, it does not displease me." Beryl's voice was shaking. It was slowly becoming harder to control the anger that swelled inside of her. How dare she be treated like a pawn! Thorin had even had the nerve to tell her point blank the marriage was based on political advancement and nothing more. And if these two could be so heartless as to care less for her thoughts and feelings on the marriage, how could Fíli differ? Still to fight was pointless, they would reel her in somehow. Tenacity though, would give her the last word. Both her father and Thorin could bear that much for what they are forcing upon her, and seeing the smug grins of victory upon each of their faces, Beryl stood straight and commanded a voice that held the air of Durin. "The prospect of becoming queen does not displease me, sirs; though I am wounded you would seek your own means through me without regard for thought or feeling. It is a pity that in this world to have any authority you must be born with a cock between your legs." She paused, "Alas I was not, and now if you would excuse me, I must ready myself for the days to come."

Clearly her father did not seem amused, though Thorin's thoughts were not well read upon his face. Never would she have thought he had found her spark encouraging yet there he was, finding himself envying this young girl's bridegroom.

It wasn't long after the confrontation with her father that Beryl was informed on the details of her engagement. Another blow was dealt to her as she was informed it would not be a formal affair as would be befitting a lady of her rank and of Fíli's, due to the timing of things. In fact, her betrothed would not be attending the wedding at all, though she read in the letter—written in Fíli's own hand—that his humblest apologies were given and were he there, he was sure they would find each other to their liking. Clearly this letter was written in advance. No one could deliver regrets to ones own wedding hours after the news was broken to the bride. Did they all think her stupid? She went on to read that arrangements had been made to see her safely to the Shire to commence her life as a wife to her husband.

Beryl shuttered. Not only would she leave behind the four corners and safety of her room to travel side by side with her vagabond husband—_such a noble match!_—it would also be expected of her to perform the marriage debt. A prospect she at the present would rather not think about. The idea of becoming one flesh by letting a male break your most sacred place was beyond molestation to Beryl. It was simply out of the question and she desired no part of it. Although it stated plainly in the letter that Fíli seemed eager enough. That could cause tension with him, but Beryl would be living in an altered reality if she expected a marriage between two people whom had never met before—one not even attending the nuptials—to go smoothly. In all honesty, Beryl expected nothing more than public appearances together if all went well and one day she truly was queen. She could do well keeping her own court and company and it would not bother her conscience in the least if her lord husband took as many mistresses as it pleased him to. It would sure enough allow her to escape the marriage bed. Let someone else fill that gap. He could father bastards and she could keep her virginity. Beryl let a laugh escape her then. Now that _would_ be an altered reality!

Placing the letters, forms, and documents down on her desk within her chambers, Beryl pulled a fur shawl over her shoulders and gazed about her chambers. She was standing in the outer compartment of her royal apartments, where she entertained and took company. It was a large space, rectangular in construction and was held up by four great stone pillars, carved into the etched ceiling. Tapestries adorned the walls in her colors of blue and ivory, while her own coat of arms or a crest hung handsomely above the hearth. It was a white falcon on a blue field. A symbol of her chastity, youth, and cleverness which she adopted on her own; it was then she wondered if she would ever see that falcon tied with Fíli's crest over the canopy of estate one day. That falcon, _her_ falcon next to the king of Erebor's sigil, the very thought sent shivers down her spine. She could one day rule the greatest kingdom in Middle Earth, and demand homage from all four corners of it. Her rooms now would be meager to the ones she would inhabit as queen. She may yet look back one day on these rooms and feel slandered by her father for giving her such accommodations. What lavish she would divulge in day by day.

A loud rapping on her door ended her daydreaming and placed her back into her own shoes and the vile reality she faced.

It had only been Maude, Beryl's childhood nurse and waiting lady. She had come to help pack her mistress's belongings and reminisce on a time much less complicated than what was before them. Custom would have it that Maude would have accompanied her to her new estate with her husband once the marriage had taken place, but in the light of the bitter situation Maude would be staying behind. "Can you believe the conditions I'm forced to endure?" Beryl handed clean linens to her nurse to pack away into one of the few satchels permitted for her to take. "I am commanded to travel as far as Laketown, to ensure the promise of my dowry delivered. I'm a pawn in control of bigger players I'm afraid."

Maude shook her head and sighed deeply wishing there was something she could say to comfort her young charge, yet nothing came to mind. The nurse too had been given her orders. "You know then too that your bridegroom will not be attending the ceremony tomorrow night?" The nurse banked on the possibility that Beryl in all of her cleverness had already found this piece of information out.

"Do not remind me."

The nuptials were a quiet affair and more like the kind of wedding that would take place among the common folk. There was no music, no grand entrance, and Thorin stood in place of his nephew who conveniently couldn't attend. Unbelieving that her father could be as cruel as to subject her to the life of a vagabond princess in hopes of wealth and glory, Beryl gave her vows without feeling. The words she spoke tumbled out of her mouth in perfect precision; void of any emotion or sincerity to love and obey her husband until taken from this world. What a bleak and sad little wedding it was, with only a few lords from her father's council to witness and sign the contract, after which was given to Beryl to do the same. Lifting the quill to the parchment was difficult, seeing as her hand felt as if it were lead. Finding the strength to sign the document was just as complicated and the only way Beryl could bring herself to do it was by breathing as deeply as she could; then she closed her eyes and signed away her life. Afterward, once the paper had been sprinkled with sand and stamped by both Thorin and Dain, Beryl let her hand fall to her side. She was no longer Beryl, daughter of Dain. She was now Beryl, wife of Fíli. And that was the bitterest of blows to her heart.

On the morning of her departure from her father's lands, Beryl had barely been able to rise from bed. The night before had been sleepless and it wasn't until dawn threatened the outside world that she was finally able to close her eyes for the briefest of moments. For not long after did the knock on the door stir her and bring her back to the truth that she must make ready to leave her home forever. And although she knew herself lucky to be allowed the privilege to view the outside world in all of its glory and horror, Beryl knew she would face it was a married Dwarrowdam. She hardly knew what married life would entail, being connected to an exiled royal prince of the blood. It was obvious enough they would not hold their own household for her to run, nor would there be parties to plan or ambassadors to entertain. All of her life she had been brought up as a _princess_, which in short meant she had no skill for the wild beyond the sanctuary of her hilly homeland. Beryl never cooked, cleaned, or wielded an ax in all of her life, but if her husband ever needed jewelry crafted, doilies embroidered, or music played she would excel beyond expectations. With all of that said, Beryl knew she would have to lie on her ambitious intuition to keep her alive and in the company's good graces.

With diminutive enthusiasm for traveling with her cousin, Beryl offered him little in the way of pleasantries and extended only a morning greeting that was expected. In truthfulness, she had hoped he would sense her displeasure with the whole situation and that it would be a thorn in his side their entire way to the Shire.

She failed to see the childishness in behaving in such a way; Thorin had anticipated she would do as much. Yet he had also hoped he would get the opportunity to discuss Fíli with her. The way he had hoped he could have prepared his nephew for his wife…the brazen little thing she was. Already this morning she had made it clear there would be little conversation, unless it was concerning their progress in reaching the Shire, and Thorin began to wonder if it had been such a wise decision to have her brought along. Dain had seemed compliant with the notion and in truth Oakenshield needed that army to back him at the gates. Taking back the mountain was going to be no walk in a spring meadow. He silently hoped Beryl would prove to be equipped to handle the hardships of life on the road and adapt quickly to the dangers they might encounter. Admitting not much thought had been taken into this plan, Thorin felt a sickened panic rise in his belly. He had taken a princess—whom had not been born into exile like the rest of his younger kin—whom had more than likely never set foot outside of the mountains of the Iron Hills, and tossed her into a spiraling and unexpected adventure on her part. He cracked a silent worried grin. Beryl was the polar opposite of her husband. Seeing her then with Fíli would prove interesting.

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	2. Last Day Of Freedom

**TheLadyAranel**

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**The She-Wolf of Erebor**

**Chapter**** Two:**

**Last Day of Freedom**

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Fíli knew by now he was married; it was an odd feeling. It was also terrifying that he had no inclination as to her look, personality or even sensibility. For all he knew, Beryl could be the most god awful looking creature the gods ever sought to create. Yet the worst of it all was that now he would be expected to play the part of dutiful husband and sever from his life all fun and play. There would be no more late nights finding happiness at the bottom of pint nor in the arms of a serving girl he was guaranteed to coax into his bed. No, that life was all over-at least in public. You'd think he would then be getting as much tomfoolery in as he could the last few nights he had to himself, but for the life of him he just couldn't. Fíli had been staring at the same pint for hours now, his appetite for mischief nowhere to be found. The others observed it too, though they were well enough off not to poke at a sleeping bear. He could see it in their faces though. They wanted to taunt him for his lack of vigor tonight, for three times in the last hour a pretty little blonde had espied him and under any other circumstance he would have been in bed with her at first hint. He just couldn't do it however, for every time he tried to see this girl in his bed, guilt rose in his stomach for his married wife whom he never seen. Fíli couldn't explain why that sick feeling gripped his gut like a vice, yet every time it did he oddly enough thought of his mother. Maybe she was the reason her son's conscience refused to taint his wife's name.

Dís's own marriage had been much like her son's. She had never met her husband before their wedding night and hardly knew what to expect. Fíli's father had been a piece of work and from the beginning he never took any part of their life together seriously. The boy knew little of his parents' time together before his brother and he came into the world, but there was enough to see growing up to guess Dís's marriage to her husband was less than perfect. For public appearances they were the very picture of how a family of the line of Durin should be. They were clean, put together, and all around well-to-do. Outside the eyes of the public however, was another story entirely. Fíli's father never made it secret he had many mistresses. In fact, it wouldn't have surprised him had someone told Fíli he had bastard siblings. Often, he would find his father giving away tokens of affection to a lady here or there, but none of his rendezvous ever lasted long. It became especially hard during his mother's pregnancy with Kíli that much Fíli could remember well. He was extremely young, but he recalled his mother crying every night in her empty bed while his father was out. He didn't realize it then, but as he grew older he grasped what had really been going on those months his baby brother grew in his mother's belly. There was never a doubt in Fíli's mind that his father had slandered his mother's name, but knowing that he had stepped out on them all during a time that should have been filled with happiness, Fíli just couldn't forgive. For years he watched his mother suffer at the hands of an inattentive, chauvinistic, pig. And for all the pain Dís had suffered, Fíli loved her. He loved her more fiercely than anyone in Arda, and for that reason he couldn't betray Beryl. He couldn't see his sons grow to hate their father for his unfaithfulness, as he had done with his own. Only Fíli could understand that.

"Stop looking so damn put out!" Kíli shouted at his brother from across the table. He had always been the optimistic one, always finding the silver lining in every situation. Sometimes the optimism was annoying; now, was one of those times.

"If I'm put out the only reason is because of you." His brother narrowed his eyes and spoke gravely.

"Don't blame me for your troubles. It wasn't me who married you off." Kíli snapped back, slightly irked at his brother's annoyance with him.

There was only a split second of silence between them before Fíli slammed his fist against his mug sending it across the table and on to the floor in a fit of rage. Everything in the inn grew quiet then and the other members of the company, who until then had been minding to their own affairs, gazed quietly upon the brothers. The inn master had muttered something about not tolerating troublemakers in his establishment, before encouraging the other patrons to continue buying their drink and attending to their own goings-on. It took more encouraging than he would have liked—for people loved to see a good bar fight and gossip—but he eventually drew most of his patrons' attention away from the two dwarves. It wasn't until the atmosphere had returned to its previous volume that Fíli spoke again. Taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair and down his face he stood stiffly. "If Thorin wanted an army, he should have married her himself." And on that note the heir to all of Erebor sulked away to his room for the night.

By the time Fíli rose in the morning half the company had already been on their way again, which suited him just fine. He preferred traveling alone or with Kíli and felt rather awkward in larger groups. His entire world revolved around a stealthy and quiet approach to everything and if you ever traveled with dwarves like Dwalin or Bombur you would understand perfectly Fíli's hesitation. That wasn't to say he didn't like his comrades though. They were some of the best dwarves he had ever the pleasure to know. It had all worked itself out however; Fíli needed this time alone with his brother. It was probably going to be one of the last times at that. Knowing this, he didn't waste his last morning of freedom in bed.

Sluggishly, he pulled himself from beneath the warmth of his covers and pulled on his breeches and then one by one adorned each piece of his clothing. Once he was finished he gathered all of his weaponry and tucked each special handmade piece, into its place on his body. Without those daggers hidden safely away on his person, he felt naked; this was the most important part of his morning routine. Once all that had been completed, Fíli left his room of the inn and found his brother at the same table he had been at the night before.

Kíli had been helping himself to breakfast and had just washed it down with a large gulp of ale. His demeanor was cheery, much the same as it always was. He hardly let anything get to him for very long. So when Fíli sat down to break his fast, he wasn't all that surprised that his brother hadn't mentioned the night before and was in all ways, brotherly to him. Kíli had asked how he slept and then they spoke of the weather, of their journey and other safe topics, straying far away from Fíli's situation. And Fíli had to admit, he appreciated his brother's discretion. He knew he could always count on his sibling for that if not for anything else; other than having his back. What were brothers for if not that? At least that could never change; Thorin could do whatever he wanted to Fíli—make him lick his boot even—as long as Kíli was there to pick him up after. In more ways than one, the younger brother did more for the elder than the younger thought. Sometimes Fíli felt he was the second born, though he would never admit it out loud.

When Fíli's food had finally arrived in front of him, he was dismayed to see it had been served by the blonde form the night before. She was much curter than she had been before and acted almost as if he had wounded her pride. "Thank you." Fíli managed to whisper up at her. The young woman simply nodded and flung her hair over her shoulder before strutting away.

"You don't think she would have spit in your food for last night, do you?" Kíli's words were barely audible from behind his full mouth.

Looking down at his plate of fish, bacon, and toast, Fíli sighed. And with a growling stomach he placed the food on the floor for the hounds, laid his money on the table and made his way to door, securing the pack on his back.

Kíli slammed the rest of his food down his gullet before following suit.

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It had been a fortnight since their departure from the Iron Hills and Beryl had adjusted to her new life well, even if it was uncomfortable. She was sore and miserable and desperately wished for a bath. Her bones were chilled from the dampness of the moors they traveled and her bottom and thighs discovered the meaning of saddle-rash. Beryl did well enough not to voice her complaints however; she knew better. There was nothing that could be done for her situation and the princess was just going to have to make the best of it. Thorin for one was extremely pleased to see her take on her suffering in silence. He had also come to admire her tenacity for seeing her part of this bargain through to the end. He even learned to laugh a little at her complete lack of skill for surviving in the wilderness.

Their first night making camp together, Thorin had done everything. It seemed no matter what task he had given Beryl, her high society living and lack of survival skills botched it. The girl couldn't start a fire, cook food, or even tie up their ponies. (Which also meant Thorin did not trust her to stand guard at night.) Yet she didn't complain when she was asked to attempt to do any of it and did put forth a good effort, even if in the end Thorin had to go back and redo it all. Beryl did get better in time despite the fact and by the fifth night she had unsaddled her pony, secured it, and started a fire all thanks to her cousin's teachings. There was a bond of silent friendship formed between them and Beryl found she thoroughly enjoyed their time together. So much in fact, that she began to dread the day in the near future. When it would no longer be just the two of them and she would be expected to fall in line with the rest of the company. It must have been easy enough to read on her face, because for the first time in hours, Thorin spoke. "Did you bite your tongue?" He commented on her bitter expression.

"No," She sneered at him before lowering her eyes. "I just wish this small journey to the Shire didn't have to end. I'd rather spend my days like this, rather than live out what lies in store for me."

Thorin furrowed his brows at this. Firstly, he was taken aback by her forwardness and never had he seen a woman speak to him with such familiarity—save his sister. Second, there was a part in him as well, that wished for all the things his young cousin had. He would never admit, he grew more jealous of Fíli every day he spent with Beryl. Had their customs allowed it, he would prefer himself in his nephew's shoes. "I will speak plainly to you Beryl and not as a king to a subject, but kin to kin." Thorin stared straight ahead of them, toward the sunset. "Had I been just Thorin and you just Beryl, I too would want this life."

The way Thorin spoke frightened Beryl. There was a certain desire in her cousin's voice that sent the coldest of shivers through her body. She had said a silent prayer that he may never speak to her like that again, and to her amazement it seemed it had been answered with what Oakenshield said next. "This conversation does not go beyond us and it is finished now. It never was, do you understand? I am not just Thorin and you are not just Beryl. We have our duties ahead of us that we must see to the end."

Thorin spoke with the authority she knew only from her father and Beryl stared in awe. He was a king that had just given her a command. She bowed her head most piously. "Yes, your majesty."

The rest of their journey carried on in silence, much as it had been and it wasn't until they reached the town of Bree that Thorin had spoken again. "We are already late for our meeting with Gandalf in the Shire, but it won't do you good showing up looking like a milkmaid. Take this and buy yourself a bath at the inn, while I get supplies for our journey." He handed her a golden coin and helped her dismount her pony. Then, pointing her in the direction of the inn, Thorin left her to her bath while he ran his errands.

Beryl had never seen a human before and when she faced the innkeeper with his booming voice and over cheery disposition in greeting her, she shrunk back in fear. Seemingly, the dwarf concurred that it was true what others said about men, that they were dirty and dull and altogether worthless. Nervously, she handed the man her coin and requested a bath.

"Right'o lass." The man winked at her and Beryl fumed at his audacity. "Mrs. Ellen will show ya the way to the bath."

The woman called Mrs. Ellen reminded Beryl of Maude. It stung a little to be reminded of such a faithful servant and the closest woman to the young princess. Much like Maude, Mrs. Ellen was a small, round woman, with bright red cheeks and a deep voice similar to a man's. Yet for all of that she was kind and compassionate; completely flabbergasted to have been in the company of a dwarrowdam. Once Mrs. Ellen had found out Beryl was of royal decent, it became even more of an honor for the woman. "Begging your pardon your highness," She spoke with her head down. "But we don't get lady folk of your kind 'round these parts too often. In fact—begging your pardon again—but it was thought you looked just like the men, with the beards and all."

Beryl raised her brows in confusion. _How ridiculous_, she thought. What could possible make her think the females of her kind grew facial hair? "No need to beg pardon." She tried to repress a smile. "But if you don't mind I'm pressed for time and desperately need a bath." That was Mrs. Ellen's hint to leave.

Once the woman bowed and made her exit, Beryl peeled off the worn and smelly clothes she had been traveling in and tossed them aside. No matter of washing was going to make those garments wearable again and she decided it was best to leave them there for the innkeeper or Mrs. Ellen to dispose of. So in gazing at the tub before her, Beryl grinned at the steaming water infused—at her request—with honeysuckle oils. So slipping into the steamy water, Beryl released a sigh of utter joy; for never had a bath felt so heavenly. All of the dirt and grime seemed to literally melt from her flesh as she submerged her entire being under the scented waters. For what felt like hours she stayed within the sanctuary of that tub, even after her filth was clearly visible within it. She justified this with the fact that she didn't exactly know when her next bath would be. Beryl might as well enjoy this one while it lasted. Which just so happened to be cut short, for Thorin knocked on the door, saying it was high time they start out again.

"We should reach the Shire by nightfall." He spoke from the other side of the door.

"I see…" There was a pause before the door cracked open and a pretty colored box was placed right on the inside of the room. Beryl nearly jumped out of the water before she realized Thorin's intent was not to enter the room fully. "What is that?"

"Something for you to wear; I assumed you hadn't packed another gown."

Beryl had been in the water up to her nose, embarrassed by such a close interaction with Thorin at such a personal level. Albeit in hearing the kindness of him buying her a gown to adorn for the evening, she slowly poked her mouth out of the tub to utter out a thank you, before her cousin had closed the door. She swore she heard him say 'You're welcome' but she couldn't be sure. Shrugging it off and not wanting to waste any time and keep Thorin waiting, Beryl stood and exited the tub, dried off, and turned to the package.

Inside the colored box was one, green damask dress. Its bodice was a square cut, embroidered with emeralds and onyx, while the length of the skirt came to the ankle. Clearly it had been made for a young human girl and was fashioned in the way men wore their clothing, but it was a nice gesture on Thorin's part and Beryl loved its simplicity. Sadly however, it didn't matter how well Beryl fancied it, the only person who's opinioned mattered tonight was Fíli's. She had no idea how he would take to her in it.

When she had finally managed to dress herself—she always had Maude to help with dressing and undressing—she found it to be exquisite on her. There wouldn't be a dwarf alive who could deny she wore the garment well, even if she was thin and small for her age. And as long as Fíli could see passed the freckles on her face—which was not becoming for a dwarrowdam—then she was sure he would have nay to complain about. There was another knock on the door.

"Who calls?" Beryl stated over her shoulder, plaiting pieces of her hair.

"Are you decent?" It was Thorin.

Beryl crossed over the room and straightened her back before opening the door. On the other end of it, she found a speechless Thorin. At first, she thought perhaps she wasn't wearing the dress as well as she thought. "Is it that bad?" She whispered.

Thorin continued to stare without a response before nodding in approval and turning his back to her, signaling that it was time for them to depart. This was most unsettling for Beryl; terror filled her small body as she quietly closed the door behind her. She followed her King out of the inn and onto the road bound for the Shire. All the way there she continued to mumble small prayers as her stomach churned with uneasiness. And when they finally reached the front door of this quant little hobbit hole, Beryl could hardly breathe. Thorin had turned to her as he raised his fist to the door.

"Stop!" She pleaded with tears in her eyes. "I-I can't do it. Let us leave Thorin…let us go." Beryl held her breath for her king's response.

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	3. Is This It?

**TheLadyAranel**

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**The She-Wolf of Erebor**

**Chapter**** Three:**

**Is This It?**

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For a moment Beryl held her breath, praying Thorin might let her go. Yet it was all in vain. Whatever compassion his Majesty had held for her in their travels, had evaporated with the heated glare that came from him. Thorin's unhappiness at her behavior burnt into the dwarrowdam's skull. It was then Beryl realized, despite this new feeling of freedom, she would never be free. This was the life she was handed, the life of obedience and composure; a life of a princess. Your words were not your own to speak, your thoughts not your own to think. Had she made such a scene at court, there surely would have been dire consequences. Releasing the small grip she held on Thorin's cloak, shame and loneliness washed over her already insipid face. Dropping into the most lowest and humble of curtseys, she whispered apologizes and begged pardon of Thorin—who was, lest she forget—her King. Nodding his approval without speaking a word, he let his jeweled fist bang upon the hobbit's door, leaving nicks and scratches against the force.

The young girl did not rise from her bowed state, for the fear that any further action against her betters might cause her more discomfort than that which had already taken root in her heart. She would wait for Thorin's command before even daring to breathe. Her very fears of what lay beyond that green door with its brass knob taunted her like a knife to her throat. As it opened, the knife cut away at her flesh. Beryl was not ready…

"Stand…Do not make a fool of yourself." The harsh nature of Thorin's words did not match the pity in his eyes. "Our company and your husband are waiting."

Beryl had not expected Thorin to help her rise from the floor, so when he didn't she thought nothing of it. The words that came from him were muffled, as if she were hearing them from under a current of water, and never had a hearth from cozy hovel felt so cold and lifeless.

Thorin was the first to enter the home of Master Baggins, and was first to be introduced by the renowned wizard, Gandalf the Grey. Knowing she would be next, the princess felt her knees buckle and her throat fill with bile. Nothing she was taught could have prepared her for this and no amount of kindness or awe from the Hobbit's eyes as she entered his home would have calmed her heart. There were too many faces staring at her, too many prying eyes. She knew she appeared to be nothing more than a mousy lass, a pitiful sight for the daughter of Dain, but the trepidation that held her gripped her so tightly, all she could do was grovel in fear. The noises of introductions were unheard over a haze of queasiness in her belly. Name after name, bow after bow, and at your service after at your service, Beryl could not keep the names straight. In fact, the truth of it all was she was looking at each individual, praying to the gods that who turned out to be Bombur or Bifur, was indeed not Fíli.

"The poor child is scared to death." Balin exclaimed, rising from his lordly bow to the princess.

"She is just fine." Thorin mumbled handing his cloak to Bilbo, minding little to the Hobbit's inquiry about Beryl's health and if she was going to ill all over his freshly mopped entryway. "She is just a little shook up," Thorin sneered, "nothing a glass of spiced wine won't calm."

Composing her nerves enough to respond for herself, finding the Durin fire within—if even at its weakest—Beryl squeaked out a response, determined to speak for herself. "I'm fine. A little jumbled in my thoughts perhaps…I've never been outside my father's halls. Forgive me my lords; it is much to take in."

"Shall I take your cloak your ladyship—I mean your highness—I mean your grace—I mean…?" The Hobbit called Bilbo bowed in the most unfashionable way, flustered and beaten mentally by Beryl's Dwarven kin. And although she felt mighty guilty for finding peace at the suffering of another, inwardly Beryl screamed for joy at the ease Bilbo brought her.

"Lady Princess, Master Baggins, and yes thank you." She smiled at him, finding it comforting to be of the same stature with at least one being in the home. Someone was there that she could at least converse with eye to eye.

"Enough of this!" Thorin hollered. "We have stood here squawking like milkmaids and I have traveled far. It is due time for food and drink."

"Yes my dear Bilbo, a glass of red wine for me." The wizard called Gandalf heartily agreed, showing Thorin to his place at the head of the table.

Bilbo nodded, acknowledging the orders for wine and ale and beer, all while hanging Beryl's cloak and taking Thorin's in his other hand. "What can I bring to the table for you, Lady Princess?" The Hobbit inquired.

The room fell silent. A few of the dwarves that remained in the entry way, Gloin, Nori and Ori, glared at their host.

"Was it something I said?" The poor little creature muttered.

Beryl held her breath. It wasn't her place to say anything, luckily for her, Nori had intervened.

"Womenfolk aren't allowed in gatherings." He explained. "Especially one like her."

_What a silly rule._ The Hobbit thought. "I see, well where is she supposed to retire then?"

"The princess, boy," Gloin barked. "If you have to address the Lady Princess at all, it's not _'her'_, _'she'_, or any of the kind."

_So you dishonor her by not letting her sit among you, but give her titles to compensate that fact?_"My apologizes."

Beryl grew agitated by being spoken of as if she weren't in the room at all. "Lest you all forget I am still among you and can speak for myself." With her being put at ease and strength returning, she addressed the Hobbit. "A glass of mulled cider would do me well; I'll take it in the parlor if you have one." She then turned to her _rightful _subjects. "This is where I will wait on his Majesty's blessing to retire for the evening…that is all." They were dismissed.

It was then that Bilbo, remembering his manners this time, escorted Beryl to the parlor where—much to both of their surprise, Gandalf was waiting, a glass in his hand. "I took it upon myself to fill your drink request Beryl daughter of Dain; along with seeing your containment is secured."

Beryl groaned. Containment; the last word she wanted to hear. How could Thorin do this to her? "Is there no chance his Majesty would reconsider? I would never act so brazenly and wanton as to tarnish my reputation."

Gandalf smiled softly. "It is not by Thorin's orders."

The dwarrowdam fumed. "Then I will not settle for being held hostage in closed quarters. Confinement is unnecessary. I need not be locked in this room all night. I'll die of boredom with nothing to read or sew…who am I supposed to converse with?!"

Bilbo was then called away for need of refills and new orders, leaving the wizard and the displaced young dwarf alone.

"I'm afraid there is little I can Beryl. Take heart though. Nothing lasts forever, and I'm sure Fíli will not let you sulk long by the fire. Let us each play our parts."

Beryl fumed. "How _dare_him! Fíli ordered this?" What right did he think he had over her?

Ignoring her, Gandalf made the smallest gestures of compassion by offering Beryl his own seat and draping a shawl over her shoulders. Locking the door behind him, Gandalf left Beryl in all of her anger to wait for whatever fate her compassionate husband had in store.

On one hand, there was talk of Smaug and the taking back of the Lonely Mountain. On the other, his bride separated to him, only by the walls of the Hobbit hole. This evening should have been thrilling, with its dark atmosphere for dark talk. Yet Fíli could not—however hard he tried—focus in on the conversation at the table, when mere yards away Beryl sat locked away in parlor. He hadn't bothered leaving the table during introductions; therefore they were just as mysterious to one another as they had always been. Keeping her at a distance this way had helped him, until now. Now it was just burning a hole in his stomach. Especially the way Kíli had looked at him when he himself had returned from the entryway, having seen Beryl. The younger brother had not said a word to his elder and that concerned Fíli. Usually his brother never kept opinions to himself and when he had, on a subject he knew was bothering his older brother, could only mean one thing. She was not what either of them would have picked for Fíli.

"Fíli, did you hear me?" Thorin barked across the table. He had been trying to get his nephew's attention for quite some time before he finally grew tired and raised his voice.

Fíli scratched his beard. "No uncle. I'm sorry."

"He's too busy thinking about the bedding tonight!" Roared Bofur, thinking himself mighty funny. "Can't blame the lad now Thorin, can you?"

Thorin ignored the dwarf as best he could, keeping his eyes locked with his eldest nephew's. "It has been a long journey for all of us and an even longer one lies ahead. We will need our minds and blades sharp. Now with our burglar in place we need to be sure none of our minds are jeopardized." It was then Thorin raised his glass high above his head and nodded to each member of the party to do the same in a toast to Fíli. "Lest we forget on this journey, that without your own sacrifice dear nephew, we would not have gotten this far…To Fíli!"

The company roared in unison, drinking deeply and laughing merrily. It was best for it to be that way. Give them all a little something to celebrate before the dawn when they were all off again, sleeping in the dirt with little to drink but water. Yet for all of this, the toast to Fíli was nothing. It meant nothing. To him it was hardly a sacrifice to marry Beryl. In fact, until this point in his life, Fíli enjoyed being the heir to Erebor. Until this point in his life he would hardly consider himself unlucky, yet in the current turn of events, he would have traded places with Kíli in a heartbeat. Let him have a wife waiting for him in the next room; locked up.

"Do you think confining her was the right thing to do?" Fíli asked his brother, keeping quiet as to not draw the attention of Gandalf and Thorin again.

Kíli shrugged. "It's just code of behavior right? Something she is probably used too."

Fíli slumped back into his chair, his mind consumed by Beryl. There was no more use in putting it off. The sooner he met her, the sooner his mind could focus on the things that actually mattered. Like the mission in front of him.

The fire had begun to smolder before the lock on the door turned over. Beryl had nodded off somewhere in the third hour of waiting and it had taken a moment for her body to fully wake again. Too sore and tired from hardly moving, Beryl squinted her eyes to see and pulled the shawl close around her, hoping to ward off the chill in the air from the dying fire. The figure in the darkness moved forward and without a word hunkered down to the fireplace. Shadowy hands scooped up the timber and threw it on the embers, poking and churning the chips until a little breath of light peaked over the logs. It wasn't long before the hearth was warm with the glow of fire again. She could see him now.

The dwarf bent over the flames was fair and tall, closer to ten years her senior if she had to guess. The golden color of his hair was not what she had expected and for a moment Beryl had second guessed that this was Fíli, simply for the fact that his uncle was not fair-haired, and neither was Kíli. This wasn't to say she was displeased however, and until he moved to get up, the fear that had once been within her lie quiescent.

He moved slowly and tiredly toward her, his feet dragging against the carpet on the parlor floor. Beryl was about to rise to greet him and was thankful for the hand that was held up to stop her. "No need for formalities." He whispered to the darkness. "I think at this point we are beyond that." Fili slumped into the couch that lay an arms length away from the chair where Beryl sat. From the look upon his face, Beryl had guessed she was less than what he expected.

"Do I displease you?" She whispered to the air around her.

Fíli smirked and kicked off his boots, placing his hands behind his head, turning his face to hers. "Stand up." He said.

Beryl furrowed her brows up obeyed and turned around slowly as he had asked of her next. When she was facing him once again she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and sat back down.

"You don't displease me, though the lighting is rather poor at the moment. You have a pretty face." He yawned propping his chin up with a hand. "Do I displease you?"

Beryl silently shook her head and lowered her eyes. Fíli was an unexpected surprise in the best of ways.

"I'm sorry I had to keep you in here," He looked at her with the slightest hint of jesting. "But it's just the way things are done."

"No need to apologize, it's natural to take precautions for those we care about." Beryl assumed.

Fíli shook his head and laughed, but when he noticed Beryl's confused look he clarified. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't know you Beryl. We were both thrown into this without much thought, but right now, I'm the only one I care about._ I'm_ the most important person to _me_."

Something snapped in Beryl. It felt like a burn to her heart. "That is a good quality to have, husband. If we do not first care for ourselves, then we cannot care for others."

Fíli laughed. "Husband…its strange to hear that said…and directed at me. How do you feel when I call you _'wife',_ wife?"

"Odd."

"Aye. That's a good way to describe it…does it make you bitter?" Fíli's tone was at ease, making conversation seem easy, despite everything.

Beryl on the other hand had never been left alone with a dwarf before, at least not without supervision, and she found it increasingly hard to deal with such a scenario. Her voice cracked under the pressure she was feeling. "Bitter?"

Fíli caught the fear in her voice and he sat up to glance over at her. "Are you afraid of me?"

When Beryl did not answer, the dwarf stood up and walked over to the chair, leaning his face into Beryl's. The closeness between them had her heart thumping loudly and Fíli could see the affect he was having on her. For him, it was a chance to better see her features. Beryl's face was square in shape, cheekbones prominent, lips small but full and eyes that would make any dwarf or man alike yearn for her. Gods those eyes, even full of fear…

"I'm fearful of what you will do to me." Beryl mumbled, looking into her husband's face. "Fearful of the way you look at me, even though you say you do not care for me."

Fíli laughed and took her by the hand, leading her out of the chair and away from the parlor, to their room which Bilbo had prepared for them earlier that evening. Thorin was the only other dwarf in the company to have a proper room; Kíli had not been happy. "There is a difference between caring for someone and desiring someone, trust me dear Beryl."

It was then that the burning feeling filled her again. "You have desired many females then?"

"I've been with dwarves and women alike and although the number is not very high, nor very low, I have laid with only desire…yes." Fíli was not stupid. He knew how that would make anyone feel to hear those words. But again, he had promised honestly. "It's better to be truthful Beryl. I'd rather you know the truth."

She nodded, stepping through the doorway to their small room, with a small bed. "Just as I too, would I rather know a truth rather than a lie, husband."

Fíli closed the door and carefully to the dismay of a terrified Beryl, helped unlace her dress. "Don't worry…It's not like that." He whispered. "Now get some sleep…You have my word I won't infringe upon you."

She did as she was asked and crawled into the bed provided for the two of them and was slightly surprised when Fíli did not slip in next to her. He simply stared at her for a spell and then left the room and closed the door.

Beryl knew she needed her sleep for the next day would be an early one, but gods be damned if she weren't more confused over her situation than ever before. Was this her life? She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she prayed it wouldn't be. That night, she missed Maude more than anyone, and hated her father just as much.

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_**Review!**_


	4. Trolling

**TheLadyAranel**

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**The She-Wolf of Erebor**

**Chapter Four:**

**Trolling**

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Beryl woke before the sun; sleep having evaded her for a fair portion of the night. Her eyes and throat had been throbbing as though she had wept the night away in her unsettled and uneventful slumber. There was no escaping this existence and the small light that had been lit as a hope for her was snuffed out. The dreary reminder that somewhere within the confines of the Hobbit hole, a very cool and indifferent husband and his uncle was still asleep. To know hundreds of miles away, her father too was sleeping, dreaming of the wealth that would be brought to him by the suffering of his only daughter. For Beryl there was a constant pang of knowing she was uncared for and unloved. It dug at her with such ferocity that she no longer felt anything but a shattered heart. It was much easier in thought than in practice to be a strong and independent. A person who let nothing bother you; then again she was still only a child. A child with no place to call home, without a soul in the world to love her for more than her position, Beryl had found herself thinking she couldn't expect anything more out of her life. _It is a world of men,_she thought. _A world where I am nothing._ Surprisingly she no longer cared.

Finding no comfort in self wallowing, Beryl pulled the blankets from around her body and stepped onto the cool wooden floors of the room. The smell of a dying fire smoldered around her and faintly the scent of honeysuckle from the prior bath still lingered. The combination was one that put a smile on our dear princess' lips. There was truly nothing than one's favorite aromas to comfort the soul.

So it was then that she combed the room for some kind of attire to dress herself, hoping that this time it would go a little smoother than trying to lace that awful gown. Without thought of Bilbo's privacy, Beryl opened chests and drawers and closets, trying to find something to suit her tastes. She had found little in the way of footwear, but her own boots would do. As for tunics and trousers there had been some minor difficulties where size was concerned. Where a fashionably handsome tunic lay much to loose about her chest and waist, the trousers could not be pulled up from beyond her knees. Beginning to get flustered, Beryl decided there was only one way to resolve the mess. Finding some scissors, salvaging thread from the damask gown, and using a pin from her hair, the little dwarf set out to work, keeping her mind busy and working by candlelight until the rest of the party had woken.

By the time the cock crowed in the east, Beryl had nearly finished what she considered to be some of her poorest work to date. Now that said, with the nimble fingers of a dwarrowdam and at the speed with which they can work, she had not done so terribly for herself. She had loosened and re-stitched the deep chestnut trousers—which she preferred over the royal blue Thorin wore—and had taken in the vest and tunic which were a deep forest green, trimmed with gold scroll work. For warmth on her travels and to comfort her bottom in the saddle of her pony, Beryl had taken the soft grey fur shawl she had brought with her and sown it delicately around the backend waist of the pants. While finding a jacket that fit rather well and must have belonged to Master Baggins; even if it was old and smelled of cracked, aged leather. With her boots being slipped onto her dainty feet, Beryl felt a new she-dwarf. It was a miraculous thing to feel a whole new person with the change of wardrobe. The pain and fear that had entered her early on had melted away to reveal confidence reborn.

There was no time to waste when her task had been completed; for she had heard the others rise from their slumber. Pulling her hair into a mass of curls at the back of her head, she had little time to take note that so much hair would probably become cumbersome. Shutting the door behind her and leaving the mess of sewing there, Beryl stepped out of the haven of that little room and walked her way slowly to the entryway, praying to the gods to give her the strength to endure what lie ahead.

To her great relief, many members of the company were still only rubbing the sleep from her eyes and with her husband and King no where to be seen, Beryl saw her chance to breathe the outside air for the first time, unhindered. A new sense of freedom washed over her as she entered into the brisk spring air, still clinging to the chill of night. The smell of the garden downhill filled her nose. Wet ground beneath her feet was all so new to her, that a high washed over Beryl. How could she have lived her life so meaninglessly behind the closed gates of the Iron Hills? The darkness of the tunnels deep within those mountains was a prison compared to this new world at Beryl's fingertips. How brightly the sun shone on her face, making all the freckles pop with new color against her sensitive skin. So this was life? _Let _her husband care so little… _let_ her father never love her…as long as this freedom could be a place she called home, Beryl could find happiness.

"It is good to see you smile. I always thought a princess should smile like that." It was a voice Beryl vaguely remembered.

"Kíli, isn't it? Forgive me milord. I was so flustered last night that I hardly remembered how to find my way from my room this morning." She curtsied deeply, feeling awkward in trousers.

The second youngest dwarf in the company—Beryl being the youngest—laughed openly. It was clear neither he nor his brother were raised as traditional princes. "I could imagine so," He reached down and pulled a dandelion from the grass and handed it to Beryl. "I can't imagine being put into the position you and my brother were forced into…here, for you, my lady."

Beryl felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "A flower?" She had never seen a dandelion before.

"Technically it's a weed, but it made you smile again…that's all that matters. Remember princess, you have more power over your situation than what you think. If you lead, they will follow."

She furrowed her brows. "What are you talking about?"

Kíli sighed and walked with Beryl to the ponies. The others were beginning to step out into the sunlight. "I know how you must feel," He whispered. "Being a 'dam for one and then being told who to marry, who you have to be…but I was second born. Second born, second best, second place…I'm the spare. At least you have the power that comes with marrying my brother right? You could have been tied to me and then neither of us would have a say in anything that happens. But lucky for you, you got Fíli. That gives you more freedom than you realize. You're not just the daughter of a King anymore…you're our _crowned_ princess. You'll be our queen one day…the mother of the future King of Erebor. Remember that."

Standing dumbfounded, Beryl posed a question. "Why tell me this?"

"Because you give us the same hope; you're not the only one who faces the hardships of this world we dwarves are made to endure. A Queen isn't much without her people; her people are nothing without her."

Beryl pondered this for a moment and came to understand what Kíli meant. Things could be far worse for her, but where she was now—who she was married to—gave an opportunity to change the way things were done, to influence the ear of the King and to capture the hearts of the dwarves she traveled with. Just because there was no throne to sit upon, no canopy of estate, that did not make her less than what she was born to be. She was the wife to the future king of Erebor…that had to have meant _something_. "Thank you Kíli…" She held the dandelion to her nose.

Kíli shrugged looking down at the dandelion in her hand. "It's just a weed." He then winked at her.

When the company was awake, saddled for their journey yet with no sign of Bilbo, Thorin had left the Hobbit's home, carrying with him a new regal identity. He certainly did not appear to be the same dwarf Beryl had traveled with from the Iron Hills to the Shire, and that left her cheerless. She had hoped for the same sense of adventure from him and lacking, Beryl was left with an emptiness that her husband was certainly not going to fill. In fact, Fíli had not even bothered to greet her with a good morning. Instead, he saddled his pony and paid no heed to her. He barely even spoke to Kíli. It went on like this for the first few days, which had turned out to be uneventful.

Bilbo had eventually caught up with them; there had been some issues with the weather. It down poured for days on end. Fíli and Kíli couldn't even get a fire going, which was unheard of. They were known for be particularly good at making campfires.

The dreariness of everything was enough to drive anyone insane, but for poor Beryl things could not have been worse: being subjected to cruelty from her husband in the form of ignorance. She did her best to remember what Kíli had told her but for Beryl, it would have been easier to have been vocally slandered than completely nonexistent to Fíli. She couldn't take anymore. Then one night, she finally decided that enough was enough.

The camp had been set up, each dwarf carrying out his duties for the evening with relatively low complaining, save that from Bilbo longing for the warmth of his hearth and the comfort of his armchair. Fíli had been charged with keeping to the ponies while Kíli took his turn at catching up on what little sleep he could. It seemed the perfect opportune moment for Beryl to converse with her husband in the allotted time for privacy between them. Though as she approached, Fíli hardly took notice. "I brought you something to drink." She whispered, extending her arm offering him a cup of ale. When he didn't take it from her, she placed it next to him and stood back. "Have I done something to displease you?"

The silence was a blow to her, hindering her ability to stand strong against the indifference he apparently felt for her. Beryl didn't know how to react. How dare he act as though she didn't exist? It wasn't her fault…none of this was her fault. At least she was trying to ease the obvious tension between them. Fíli purposely avoided contact with her at every turn and it was beginning to feel as though things were only going to get worse before they got better. It wasn't right…gods damn him.

"I cannot speak more plainly to you than this," Beryl's famous temper was teetering on the boiling point. "You will recognize that I harbor no love for you as a wife might love her husband, and do not fool your lordship's idea that I expect you to feel an ounce of empathy towards me. _However,_I refuse to be made a laughing stock of this expedition as a dwarrowdam made mockery by her crowned prince. You, lord husband, would not have been _my_ first choice had I a decision in my suitors. There are plenty of other dwarven lords who would gladly take up arms in the name of my father to have my hand in marriage. Yet, I was _sold_like _swine_ to an ungrateful, evil little sprite like you. It would do you well to remember my lord, I am a daughter of Durin; I am the daughter of a _KING,_ and you are naught but a homeless, vagabond prince. Without me, your quest would be at a stand still…I'm not asking for love or compassion or even admiration. Yet my face is not so unappealing and your condition so daunting that you cannot treat me the common respect due to a lady." Beryl's face was hot with rage, her fists clenched at her sides, ready to fly. Gods help her if Fíli didn't acknowledge her at this point…if he continued to stand with his back to her… "Why you selfish…"

Beryl shoved Fíli as hard as she could down the hill and into a briar bush. And at first the thrill of doing it washed over her happily, that is until she realized what she had done. The crowned prince of Durin landed face first into a thicket of briars, his face scratched and clothes arrayed. The look on his face a mixture of shock and anger, with Beryl caught in the crosshairs. It took the prince a good time to pull himself from the disaster he was in but by the time he reached the top of the hill, Beryl had been begging forgiveness—yet again for her brash actions. The difference conversely between Fíli and his uncle, age yet aside, was despite how he may have felt toward his wife; he was not going to be made a fool by her.

"What in Durin's name makes you think you can do that?" The anger that blazed behind those blue eyes chilled her. "Barely give me time to find the words to speak before throwing me down into the thicket!"

Beryl tried her best to fight the laughter rising in her throat. "My lord I'm sorry…please…"

"You think it funny? What you deserve is a right good whipping." The grim expression on Fíli's face was not one in the mood for jesting. And rightly so, the thorns from that bush had done a number on his skin.

However Beryl still stood in disbelief. "You wouldn't dare."

Fíli didn't even care to respond. He took Beryl by her wrist and none to gently, dragged her back to camp. The company stood in awe at the state of Fíli but not without curiosity at Beryl. Who at that point was fighting against her husband, with _'how dare you'_ and _'let me go'_. In the end they had caused quite a scene. Beryl was again fuming with the same amount anger but her thrashing about was to no avail. Fíli was much too strong for her.

Finding their way to where their sleeping mats had been laid out, Fíli ignored the callings of the company as to what was going on and what had happened to his appearance. In fact the only thing on his mind was giving Beryl what he thought she deserved and when he sat down to pull her over his knee she wiggled free and they found themselves wrestling each other in the mud and dirt. She had kicked him hard in the groin only to fuel his rampage all the more while she screamed for someone to save her the sadistic beast trying to assault her.

"I don't think you're doing it right." Kíli commented yawning, awakened from his fitful sleep. "In fact I'm positive you're not doing it right."

"Hush it," Fíli hissed, pinning a knee against the small of Beryl's back. "No one ever did worse off this, quit your hollering." He barked at his belt swooshed in the air, smacking hard against her bottom. He did this five more times before letting a very embarrassed and heated Beryl go. "Think twice before you assault your betters won't you?"

Beryl instinctively put her hand on her bottom where it smarted and spun to see the faces of all the company staring back at her. She met eyes with Thorin. "Why didn't you stop him?!" She barked. Thorin did not answer her and when the embarrassment reached its maximum, her eyes filled with tears and she ran down the hill back to where she had thrown Fíli down.

It was there she cried until the tears turned from anger to sadness and then into nothing at all. She closed her eyes and dreamt it all away. Beryl knew Fíli wasn't a monster… Still what he had done to her she could not just up and forgive on a whim, especially when her rear end still smarted. She deserved it. Even if it was something she'd never say aloud to Fíli. Beryl still had her pride. He may have wounded it but self-importance healed faster than a sore bottom. She heard footsteps behind her. "What do you want of me?" She managed to get out.

Beryl did not look up at Fíli as he slipped down in the grass next to her. She didn't even bother to look at him.

"You never let me speak." He groaned, his eye swollen from a thorn that gashed his brow. "The words aren't easy to find when trying to converse with you. I wasn't purposely…I mean…Beryl we knew nothing of one another. We still no nothing of one another…Durin's blood you're _a child_. Younger than Kíli…Thorin and Dain gave me a adolescent bride."

Beryl snorted. "I'm not a child; I've bled for three years now. Well beyond marriage years."

Fíli's raised his eyes in disbelief at her forwardness regarding the topic of her womanhood. He was brought up outside of the royal courts and their ways of life. Where Beryl grew up knowing no part of her life was private, Fíli was raised to keep some manners to you and yourself alone. Something he wasn't even ready to handle as a husband. "I see," He murmured. "Beryl I'm sorry…You'll have to give me time to grasp everything…I'm not as good at this as you seem to be."

"I'm not good at this at all." She sneered. "I just wanted you to stop ignoring me."

She waited for him to respond this time. When he didn't, Beryl made an audible sigh.

"Hush now," He pointed to the ponies. "Weren't there sixteen of them?"

"Yes."

"Now there's only fourteen."

Beryl would have been lying if she said she had given two cares as to what happened to those ponies. Their disappearance was on her husband's head and that gave her a sort of vindication for her sore backside. Thorin would not be happy. "Seems they are…Such a pity for it." The lack of emotion was clear.

Fíli paid no heed however and called for Kíli. The two of them conversed over the situation, leaving Beryl out of earshot as per usual. This irked her as it had now for a fortnight and Beryl decided it best to turn in for the night. Clearly the missing ponies were the concern of her male counterparts and none of hers. So turning back for her sleeping pelt, the princess did her best to pay less attention to the mischievous glances of the company.

She knew what they were thinking; what had she done to incur the wraith of her newly wed husband? Let them guess. Fíli had deserved everything he got and in Beryl's mind the blame for what happened landed completely on his shoulders. She stood over her pelt and willed the courage to sit, her hindquarters still throbbing. Luckily, no one had spoken to her or cared enough to ask what her hesitation might be. Just as well; when Beryl finally decided to lie down (upon her stomach) she cursed them all for their ignorance. Let them get lost looking for those damned ponies. This was her last thought before sleep took her.

When she woke, the world was dark. Purple danced with indigo on a cloud filled blanket of sky. There was no fire in the center of camp and as her eyes adjusted she realized there were no dwarves either. Eeriness crept into Beryl's bones and the far off cry of wolves chilled her blood. For the first time in all her life, the princess was utterly alone.

At first she took to the idea that they had left her; that Fíli had deemed her too big a burden and left her to fend for herself. But her mind told her no, Thorin would never let that happen. She was also certain that some members of the company had grown fond of the female presence. So then if those possibilities were ruled out, where were all the missing dwarves? Again the howling in the distance sparked trepidation, and Beryl decided it was best to at least survey the camp than to sit still. The perimeters of the site were void of any sign that life had been there. As difficult as it was to take to mind, it was if they had dropped off the face of the earth. There was absolutely no sign of any of them, or their weapons.

"Damned be all of them." She hissed between her teeth. They wasn't even a sign of their hobbit burglar.

Just then a shout rattled out through the trees. If Beryl had to have made a speculation, she would have bet her life that the scream came from Mr. Bilbo. Without delay, the princess trudged down the hill and into the forest, not even thinking to arm herself; her first mistake. The second would have been that she hadn't paid close enough attention to which direction that scream had come from and was blindly roaming the dense thicket without a clue. Her mind was so bent on finding someone, anyone, that she hadn't properly analyzed her situation. So when she had finally seen the soft glow of firelight in the distance, she did not hesitate to run towards it; danger seemed was a foreign concept. She just needed to find that one friendly face…

The smell is what she remembered most. It was a pungent, putrid, sulfuric smell that coiled around her nostrils and nearly had her vomiting. Never in all her days had she had the displeasure of inhaling such an awful fragrance. For future reference, she learned it was an odor commonly associated with trolls. Next was the muffled hollers of her companions and the bantering of poor little Bilbo, doing his best to save the halfwits from becoming morsels for the invalid creatures. Last was the sheer size and horrid appearance of the trolls themselves, who seemed all too eager to argue right along with the hobbit on the subject of how best to serve up dwarf. It hadn't taken long at all for Beryl to see exactly what game Mr. Baggins was playing. He was buying them time, but time for what?

Beryl was an educated soul, though educated in the arts and not of worldly matters, for instance, how to survive troll captivity. What to do if you find yourself at the mercy of trolls? Thinking back to the tales her father told in the great hall and the bedtime stories Maude often spun, turned a cog in Beryl's mind that she hadn't even realized existed. Trolls feared sunlight; turned them to stone. That was it! Bilbo was praying for time for sunlight, but his ability to keep their attentions on him and off the company was wearing thin. If she had to guess, the poor little hobbit had less than five minutes before they squished him into jelly and then started in on the company. She would have to act fast. "Hallo!" She belted, stepping out from the brush. "I said, Hallo!"

At first the whole of the camp fell into an awkward silence save the crackle of the fire. The three monstrous trolls staring at a creature they had never seen before, which gave Bilbo the opportunity to wiggle free and begin untying the others.

"What is it?" One of them snapped.

"I dunno know."

"Can we eat it?"

Beryl jumped at the thought of being eaten but just as easily composed her regal self again. She willed her eyes to stay upon the trolls and away from the others who were freeing themselves from bondage. "I am Beryl, daughter of Dain…wi-wife of Fíli, crowned princess of Erebor."

One of the Trolls laughed. "You're not a barrel. I know what them is."

Their stupidity was astonishing. However arguing over what she was and what her name might mean, gave the company enough time to secure themselves away within the brush and before anyone had time to think, the first light of dawn had shone bright over the treetops. Gandalf had made himself known then and the disgusting creatures turned to stone. It was then Beryl realized the stories she thought to be pure fiction, did in fact hold truth…truth that had saved them all that night. Gandalf of course, sharing in the saving bit.

After the ordeal, thanks were given to Bilbo—to think Beryl would have been thanked would have been comical. Beryl herself even thanked Bilbo for returning her King and husband safe, even though she would have rather seen them both squashed. Thorin even showed a tad bit of gratitude towards the hobbit. The original cause for concern—being the missing ponies—was all but forgotten. Then of course the business of looting the trolls home—or perhaps 'treasure cave' was a better analogy, was in order.

It hadn't taken long for the dwarves to bury what they couldn't carry and loot what they could. Beryl herself took nothing, for the stench that clung to it made her feel more inclined to vomit than not. Fíli himself had found a suitable pair of daggers and one single dirk which in the following night, had been presented to Beryl during dinner.

They had ridden hard that second night; Beryl had barely made it through the day without crying for her sore bottom. Still angry with her husband, the princess took her dinner away from the company and in the comfort of her sleeping pelt. Fíli had rarely paid her heed that day so when he sat beside her and offered her another bowl of broth, he had gained her full attention.

"Here, eat your fill." He paused as she took the bowl from him and slowly raised it to her lips. "Thank you, for what you did with the trolls. The others are above showing gratitude to you."

Beryl furrowed her brows and wrinkled her nose at the disgusting effort for mending the pitiful relationship they already shared. "Think naught of it. It wasn't for you. Without you all alive I wouldn't have lived long myself…I'm no warrior."

Fíli laughed dryly. "Aye, I figured you say that. Yet here is how it all stands, Beryl. What you did took courage and for that I commend you. Forgive me for the beating I gave you…it seems we both cannot go around this way, bantering off of each other like bairns."

"You've been speaking with your uncle." Beryl assumed, sipping at the warmth from her bowl.

"Aye…I have. He told me things about you I never thought to assume." The face of bullheadedness danced in his eyes.

Beryl nearly grinned ear to ear at his attempt of an apology. "You should have assumed nothing of me dear husband. I am many things you would hardly believe." That was a bluff at best.

"Look lass, I didn't come over here to pick another fight with you. I came here seeking an apology and aye, I did speak with my uncle. And my gratitude and apology isn't for you or him or any dwarf here…it's for someone who would have wanted me to treat you better. Someone who suffered at the hands of dwarf who hadn't deserved her and I'll not be that to you."

The gentility in Fíli's voice slapped the smirk from Beryl's face. He was not playing a farce with her and she had wounded him deeply with her coldhearted jesting. "Forgive me, I hadn't meant to speak out of term. I will accept your humble apology. Perhaps you could tell me of this person who meant so much to you?" Part of her feared it was another dwarrowdam, one he could not be with due to his marriage to her.

"Another night lass, just not this one…here, I want you to keep this on your person; hide it in your boot." It was then Fíli presented her with the dirk and as Beryl grabbed it, he took her hand in his. "Should I ever fail to protect you, protect yourself, _wife_." Fíli then kissed her palm.

Beryl's ears burnt red with embarrassment at this new act of endearment. She spoke the first words that came to mind. "Thank you, _husband._"

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_**Review!**_


	5. Hidden Knowledge From Thorin's Past

**TheLadyAranel**

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**The She-Wolf of Erebor**

**Chapter Five:**

**Hidden Knowledge From Thorin's Past**

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The following days had been less than eventful and the mishap with the trolls all but forgotten. Everyone seemed a bit more cheerful, what with the rain ending and the sun shining down on them. Even Fíli and Beryl had made the slightest bit of headway, regarding their forced relationship with each other; most surprised by this was Kíli. Hardly anyone else cared to notice, except perhaps Thorin, who as of late had been more driven by anger than anything else. Taking his frustration out on poor Bilbo, who only sought solace in his pipe and the quietness of night. When their campfires burned low against the darkened skies. And it was in the darkness that Beryl had first noticed how even among kin, the dwarves had split into their own group—sticking closer to some more than others.

Gloin and Oin had made a point of sitting together during supper, while Nori, Dori, and Ori had never ventured very far from their brotherly circle. Meanwhile, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur would sit, eat, make merry, and smoke their pipes, inviting any who might wish to join them, but never going out of their ways to bring about a union. Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin had kept their quiet council with Gandalf—when the wizard wished to remain present—which subsequently left Beryl, Fíli, and his brother to enjoy their own company; more often than not, watching over Bilbo.

One night while the scenario above played out, much as it always had, Bilbo had taken a seat next to Kíli, staring across at the couple who awkwardly avoided each other's gaze. His puzzlement over their indifference was gnawing at him. He quietly cleared his throat. "It is good to see you two not fighting, isn't it Kíli?"

The dark haired dwarf held his spoon full of stew in mid-bite, his eyebrow cocked in wonderment. He shook his head pitifully at Bilbo, before munching down and licking his bowl clean. The hobbit sighed, tapping his fingers against his knees, the awkwardness of the situation hardly subdued. All he had been trying to achieve with the three dwarves was nothing less than the first steps of friendship. Neither brother held any want within themselves for companionship with the hobbit, but the eyes of Beryl had seen the attempt on Bilbo's part. She knew what it meant to be an outcast among her kin; after all, how many females of her kind had ever been allowed outside the walls of their homes? She offered a small smile to Bilbo, which was met by the disapproving gaze of her husband. "I suppose it would be the first friendship in history to have taken blossom over a spanking." She had learned to laugh at that particular incident. Kíli burst into a fit of mirth, his elder brother sighing at the immaturity of it all.

Bilbo's eyes danced a little, completely overwhelmed by the simple gesture of kindness. "I suppose you're right about that, Beryl daughter of Dain." (Bilbo had learned the proper titles to address her with, given formal and informal settings. This particular time was an informal situation.)

Fíli huffed in bitter annoyance. He had been trying his best the past few weeks to remain as genuine as he could towards his wife. Yet every time she brought up their quarrels, it made him loathsome; putting him out and in to a bad mood. Needless to say, progress was strained on them, but at least fists weren't flying and Fíli had restrained himself from removing his belt on multiple occasions. He supposed what irked him most about Beryl, was the way she thought herself above him. Many times he sat by a fire at night, looking down on her as she slept, feeling exactly the way she wanted him too; a lesser to her grandness. It wasn't until two nights ago when Thorin had actually approached Fíli while they road onward, and the young dwarf's self esteem had been reassured.

Thorin had explained to him that the only difference—if it could be considered a difference at all—was that Beryl had been reared in the comfort of a mountain home. She was the daughter of a King, and Fíli perhaps only a grandson and nephew to two. However, Beryl was also a _dwarrowdam. _By their culture, Beryl's blood and rank among their people made her good for one thing: rearing bairns. Particularly _royal_ bairns and whether Erebor had been lost or not, Thorin had made the suggestion to Fíli that he would have been made to wed Dain's daughter regardless. When Fíli questioned why he had been made to marry Beryl, while Thorin as King had no means of securing an heir, his uncle frowned and dismissed the conversation…leaving his nephew to wonder what had happened.

"I need my trousers mended," Fíli spoke coolly to his wife, changing the subject which had started between Beryl and Bilbo. "They've torn again."

"Aye, mine too…that is, if you wouldn't mind, Beryl?" Kíli piped up, his primary cheerfulness dropping an octave when his brother's wife glared at them both.

Beryl sighed, shrugging her shoulders and setting her half eaten dinner aside. It hadn't slipped her intelligence as to what Fíli was trying to do and what she said irked him to no end. "I'll mend them tomorrow. I have no light to see by, currently."

Fíli huffed again.

The rest of the night carried on in silence, save the singing of Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.

Following the night she had endured graciously, Beryl was immensely pleased that Thorin and Balin had thought it wise to remain at camp for another day. As of recently, no trouble had found them and within the well protected rocky terrain, everyone could afford some extra rest. Not to mention the need for clothes to be mended. (Once it was common knowledge that Beryl had been sewing Fíli and Kíli's clothes, she had found a large pile of torn tunics and trousers on her sleeping mat.) So while the others of the company putzed around, Beryl was confined to the dreary task of being seamstress. Luckily for her, Bilbo was neither a warrior in need of sword practice, nor privy to council meetings held by Thorin and Balin—which in short meant he was free to keep her company. He sat down by her, glancing around his person to be sure her husband was nowhere in sight.

"I wouldn't worry," Beryl smiled, "He was only upset with me…he is only ever upset with me."

The hobbit's brows crinkled at her words, trying his best to remain aloof to what she had said to him. On top of being a burglar for Thorin, the last thing Master Baggins wanted was to be caught up in a very odd marriage predicament. He sniffled.

"Do you have clothes that need sewn as well, Master Baggins?" She had finished stitching a pair of Nori's trousers, folding them and setting them aside.

"No, thank you Beryl." He caught himself at the end and cringed knowing he had forgotten the 'Daughter of Dain', which was expected after every use of her name. This only made her laugh.

"Don't worry," She winked, "I won't tell Thorin or Fíli."

Bilbo smiled halfheartedly and partly fearful. He rather enjoyed Beryl's company, though with it came certain expectations on how he was supposed to behave around her. Still, she was one friendly face among many suspicious ones and aside from Kíli—the easiest one to talk to. They spent the next few hours talking of the Shire and the Iron Hills, swapping stories of family; all while Beryl finished her needlework. By the time she was done, it had just passed noon and Bilbo had found himself rather hungry—having passed up second breakfast to keep the she-dwarf company. He politely excused himself and made a B-line for Bombur, who was always known to have some delicious morsel waiting, on hand. Dain Ironfoot's daughter only smiled wider while watching the Hobbit scurry off.

Once the clothes had been folded, Beryl took it upon herself to return them, placing each dwarf's laundry at the end of his sleeping mat. With all of her needlecraft done—at the expense of her poor bloodied fingers—Beryl was overjoyed to stretch her legs and walk a ways. It crossed her mind that it had been the better part of two weeks since she last bathed, and if she happened across a stream or creek, she would most certainly love to cleanse herself of the dirt and grime that caked itself to her body. Of course, by her husband's leave… but he was nowhere to be found.

As she meandered down the rocky slopes of their camp, Beryl felt eyes upon her. She turned slightly to peer behind her, unnoticed. When she realized it had been Thorin, sitting down and enjoying his pipe, she smiled at him. He watched her carefully, his expression void of any hint as to his thoughts. It was the first time since meeting him that Beryl could see the family resemblance between her husband and his uncle. She even took to mind that Thorin was indeed handsome, and how he might have very well been the raven-haired equivalent to Fíli in his younger days. Then it occurred to her, that she could have just as easily been Thorin's bride, instead of Fíli's. Dain had even suggested their possible union first…but Thorin had refused… Beryl had thought nothing of it; expecting that Oakenshield's hesitance was out propriety. Though the way he was staring at her now had Beryl second guessing her cousin's feelings for her. It was the same way he gazed at her when they had been traveling from the Iron Hills to the Shire, and even then Beryl wished he hadn't. Blinking hard, she nodded to him, bowing her head piously before taking off down the hill; determined to put that awkwardness behind her.

Passed the camp, there were rolling hills which led into a meadow, and farther on down from that, a path which led to a stream. Beryl had only come across it by chance. That was to say, she had followed Dwalin who when voiced if 'The Lady Princess would care to wash', was met by a beaming grin. So it was that she had been accompanied to the stream where she lingered for a time, simply awestruck by the beauty of the water. To every dwarf in the company, it was a sight to see when Beryl experienced something in the outside world for the first time. Dwalin's incident just happened to be when Beryl had first laid eyes on moving water—above ground. Her innocence had the gruff, battle hardened warrior smiling; actually _smiling._ And for awhile they bantered back and forth in their own tongue, forgetting for a moment they were all vagabonds. It was in their serious talk that the first taste of realization hit Beryl, remembering what Kíli had told her all those days ago in the Shire. These dwarves _did_ look to her for hope—a mother to the children of Erebor. It was then she fully understood exactly what she was to them. For Thorin and these dwarves, as well as for her own husband; the line of Durin depended on Beryl. Not so much for an army at the gates of the Lonely Mountain, but as the sole dwarrowdam to ensure that the line of Durin endured… That was how they saw her. Regardless of the doomed relationship between Beryl and Fíli, she needed to rise to meet their expectations of her. She craved their love and loyalty…

"There you are!" The voice of Fíli echoed down through the brush. Beryl turned her head to stare up into her husband's eyes. He looked distraught.

Dwalin uncrossed his arms and held out a hand to steady the golden haired prince. "Calm down now, laddie…the lass was only taking a breather. She never so much as left my sights."

Fíli glowered down at Beryl and then up at Dwalin. The look on the senior dwarf's face was a warning for the younger not to loose his temper; whether Fíli was a prince or not, Dwalin was his elder.

"Thank you, for watching over her…" Fíli's voice faded, trying to locate the right words to use. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with my wife in private."

It was then that Dwalin looked down at Beryl, who was still at the water's edge. Plain enough to see, he was standing there as a soldier does, awaiting orders. Fíli gaped open mouthed at the scene, unbelieving that a dwarf such as Dwalin would wait for leave from his wife. What the hell had she said to him? "It's all right, Dwalin." Beryl stood up, brushing off the back of her trousers—which Fíli had asked her before not to wear—smiling. "Thank you for keeping me company." With that, Dwalin left but not without looking distastefully on the scene of the Fíli and Beryl together…alone, despite their marriage.

"You could have told me where you were going," Fíli started in, almost immediately.

Beryl rolled her eyes and slumped back down to the rock, dangling her feet down into the cold water. "I couldn't find you anywhere, and all I wanted was to bathe. Very well couldn't do that with Dwalin right here, now could I?... So instead I was just talking to him."

Sighing, Fíli let his anger slip, finding a spot on the rock next to Beryl and furrowed his brows. "What in the world were you conversing with _Dwalin _about?"

Fiddling with her fingernails and pulling at the scabs that were acquired from sewing, she hesitated in responding. It took all her nerve to stare Fíli in the eyes. "Erebor…my mother…mostly. Dwalin said she was betrothed to Thorin, a long time ago…that after Smaug took the mountain, her father broke the arrangement with Thrain and offered my mother's hand to my father instead." Beryl's gut twisted, the faint memories of her mother were a very painful thing to recall. "Dwalin said that Thorin fell into a dark depression when given the news…that he swore to never take the hand of another dwarrowdam…Erebor would be inherited by his sister's son."

Fíli's jaw nearly hit the floor. How could he have been excluded from such knowledge? Well…that explained why Thorin dumped Beryl onto his nephew's plate—for lack of a better expression. He couldn't think of anything to say in response to Beryl.

"Could you imagine?" She whispered softly.

"Pardon?" Fíli was still trying to grasp what he had just been informed of…something he would need to discuss with his uncle in due time.

Beryl's eyes pooled with tears, her hands curling in towards her chest. "Could you imagine loving someone so fiercely, you would cast every other being in Arda aside as a show of affection? What kind of love must he have had for her…?"

Staring into Beryl's eyes, Fíli found something in them he had never seen before. There was a small glimmer of hope; hope that she might find that kind of enduring love one day. Though he doubted it would ever be him to give that to her. He certainly wasn't going to go celibate for the rest of his days. Maybe that was why Thorin was such a prick at times. Sighing, Fíli kissed her forehead. The first time he had ever done so, and the action occurred in the blink of an eye. "You're a silly bairn, Beryl. Hush you now and bathe…I'll turn 'round and make sure no one peeps in on you…just make it nippy."

And he had done just that, though his mind did wander a tad bit…mostly concerning Thorin and the vile fact that he had stuck Fíli with Beryl because of some broad he fucked however long ago…then again…if Thorin took Beryl's hand…he would have been fucking the daughter of the woman he used to fuck… So instead, Thorin tossed Beryl to Fíli, so Fíli could fuck the daughter of the broad Thorin used to fuck… wasn't it already bad enough they were fourth cousins? His head pounded with the most unbelievable headache he had ever remembered having. He called out to Beryl to see if she were anywhere near done with her bath.

"Aye!" She hollered, splashing water over her breasts and scrubbing away at her arms. "Five more minutes."

Fíli rolled his eyes and took out his pipe and tamper, cleaning out the bowl and filling it. If he was going to have to sit there and wait for his wife, he might as well enjoy himself while he did so.

They had returned to camp side by side, Fíli determined to hide his new found contempt for uncle. Beryl was in a better mood—having talked with Dwalin seemed to lighten her heart and Fíli was happy for it. He had learned along the way to enjoy her better when she was jovial. Partly because it made things easier on him, and secondly—perhaps mostly—was that Beryl had this beaming smile that made his heart race with desire. It was nice to have someone next to him that could do that. And she had flashed the same grin at him as they climbed the rocky terrain, her damp curls molding to her freckled dimples. It was truly unfair what that she-dwarf was capable of making him feel. What she was making him want _to do. _"If you keep grinning like that, your face will stick that way." She continued to beam. "What in the world are you so happy about?"

Her response caught him off guard, "I just have a new outlook on everything, I suppose. After speaking with Dwalin, I understand this all a little better. I feel as though I could learn to let what happened to us blossom…couldn't you?"

Fíli found himself between a rock and hard place…and gave in to lying. Both to Beryl and to himself. "Aye Beryl…I think I could." He did not believe a word he said. How could he?

As they reached their own section of the camp, Fíli caught sight of Thorin sitting against a stone structure, eyeing them both. Everything was beginning to make sense to Fíli.

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_**Review!**_

**I hope all of you haven't given up on this story, and I also hope that you all understand the slight creepiness Thorin seems to have for Beryl. Please understand this is not a Thorin/OC story in ANYWAY...its just for plot purposes. Review please...I'm a whore for them. :)**


	6. Promises and Flames

**TheLadyAranel**

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**The She-Wolf of Erebor**

**Chapter Six:**

**Promises and Flames**

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**_Before the fall of Erebor…_**

_Thorin son of Thrain stood beside his grandfather, who sat atop his great chair of estate. Kóna was to Thorin's right._

_"Are you happy?" His voice was carried by a whisper. A query for her ears alone, for it wasn't in reference to the great bounty placed upon Erebor that day—with the homage that came even from the Elves. No, it was a happiness set far deeper than jewels, gold, and all the wealth of Middle-Earth. It was in reference to the painstaking effort of Kóna's father, Lófar, who fought a heated battle of debasement for the two young dwarves. For today of all days—added in to the fact that Thranduil had subjected himself to the mightiness of Thror—was the day Thrain had finally accepted the match between Thorin and Kóna._

_She smiled then, only slightly. Her father's eyes were on the both of them. "Aye, my prince…the most happy."_

_Thorin allowed a smile to adorn his face with pride; there was no other lass in all the seven clans that he would have taken over her. There would be no one else Thorin would have aside from Kóna to rear his children. She would stand beside his chair of estate one day, just as he was standing beside his grandfather's now. Kóna would be his queen. And now with the King's Jewel as affirmation to their claim of Erebor, there was nothing but utter surety. Both of the young Dwarves took this to mind as the jewels of Thranduil's wife were laid at the feet of Thror. Both were too in love to see the torn heart of the Elven-King as he parted with the last material piece of his own queen. Thorin had never taken to mind that one day he might know that same pain. For now, he was content._

_After the parade of gifts and oaths to King Thror—mightiest of the Dwarven Lords, a grand feast had been prepared for Erebor's nobles and esteemed guests. Throngs upon throngs of Dwarves, Men, and Elves alike were invited into the deep halls of the king. A never ending supply of drink and food laid out upon tables the length of some fifty feet. The sheer volume of occupants left the corridors of the less populated areas of the mountain ringing softly from the distant merry-making. After the procession line and formalities, it was in one of the darkened halls that two young gentle-born Dwarves breathed heavily and hungrily for one another._

_A soft giggle escaped Kóna's lips as they found Thorin's once more. In an effortless motion he had her against a stone wall, Kóna's legs wrapped around his waist which held her there. She had secured her fingers within his raven hair and delved into the depth that was the sweetness of his kisses. A low rumbling grew deep within his chest, his strong hands caressing her thighs first over her dress, then beneath. The thin fabric of her stockings was the only thing separating Thorin from her supple skin. As he reached upward to the tie that which secured them, Kóna deepened the kiss but pulled her legs together, slowly slipping from around his waist, back to the ground to stand before her lover. "Not yet," She whispered, "I'm not a common milkmaid and you aren't an apprentice to a smithy. As earnestly as I desire you Thorin, I have my expectations."_

_Thorin pulled her close then, still smiling from the joy that filled his being. Kissing the top of her head, he wrapped her in his arms; breathing deeply, he took in the smell of her hair. "If your desire is to wait, then you shall see it fulfilled. I would not risk your unhappiness—not ever."_

_"Thank you, __my prince__," Kóna whispered yet again._

_Thorin corrected her, "Your betrothed, now."_

_She smiled shyly, taking his hand from around her body and placing it in her own. She looked at the pair of hands then, weighing the differences between them; one of her favorite things to do. Kóna admired the broadness of Thorin's, particularly how his strong but gentle grip could enclose both of her delicate hands in his own. It was a surreal emotion—to feel so protected by such a simple gesture. Truly she loved him, and not just for his title or claims…no. Kóna loved Thorin because he was gentle, sweet, kind, and above all, compassionate towards her. Their love was a miracle brought to pass; otherwise they would have been separated from one another for their social standings. For the prince and heir to all of Erebor locked fingers with a noble-dam—although very distant—who's family had initially hailed from the Iron Hills. (Kóna was a distant cousin of Dain, though no blood relation to Thorin.)_

_Thorin noticed Kóna's face draw in, as if apprehension had entered her heart. "What troubles you, sweeting?" His deep voice pulled her eyes from their hands intertwined._

_Looking up into the towering dwarf—all five feet—Kóna's face pulled coyly into a soft smirk. She was trying her best to hold in her concerns. "Promise me something, Thorin?"_

_"I would promise the world to you, Kóna."_

_She rolled her eyes then, shaking her head in disbelief. "You can be so chivalrous when you deem it proper." She teased, "But I don't want to the world, Thorin…I want…"_

_Thorin sighed in a quiet laughter, taking her face in his hands, leaving hers to fall on her lap. "Say it; whatever it is you want. It will be yours."_

_They looked into each others eyes now, both so deeply and inseparably in love. Kóna drew in a deep breath to find the courage to speak her thoughts. She knew it wouldn't be long and their time alone would end. "If something were to ever happen to me Thorin…promise me you care for my children? Give them the best life possible. Protect them, should they find themselves in danger."_

_Thorin chuckled, amused at her request. "Kóna, my love, that is a given. You should say __**our**__ children though…it would do my heart good to hear it."_

_The Dwarrowdam smiled sadly, wanting nothing more in the world than to mother her prince's children. "Our children Thorin…" … … … …_

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Beryl's legs pumped harder and faster than she ever thought possible. With each footfall the burning increased, to the point where she thought her heart might burst within her chest. Wargs closed in on all sides; escape was impossible. Soon enough, they would all be dead…their bones within the jaws of the beasts that hunted them. She was starting to fall behind…her hand slipping from Kíli's. From somewhere ahead of them, the voices of Thorin and Fíli echoed to them. Like a dream they shouted to the two youngest Dwarves; neither of them able to shout from lack of breath.

"Don't stop, Beryl!" Kíli pleaded, "Don't you stop running." His voice was strained. They had been trying to escape the clutches of their enemies for over an hour now.

Beryl's eyes stung with tears as every breath she drew in pierced her innards. It hurt so badly…all she wanted to do was lie down. All she wanted to do was rest. "I can't Kíli. Just go…just let me go."

Beryl remembered hearing her father's countrymen tell of the dangers of the world; how when you faced your own death, your life flashes before your eyes. She grimly realized they had all been lying—or they had never faced death before. Her existence didn't flash before her eyes…_nothing_ flashed before her eyes. The world around her began to fade in and out. She could no longer feel her feet touch the ground. There was only pain. A mind searing, numbing pain crippled her with the inability to take enough air into her lungs to renew her strength. Beryl only saw darkness. She only felt the release and resolve to let go. The fear was gone, the will to fight missing…Beryl was ready to lie down and let it all go.

"Don't you dare!" Thorin's voice ripped through the blackness, pulling the Dwarrowdam from the bottomless abyss of death. She felt his strong hands pull at the collar of the tunic she wore, throwing her over his shoulder, where her world turned upside down. Her head lulled from side to side, the images of wargs and their riders bounding towards them: upside down.

From there, her head continued to pound against the cold metal of the thin chain armor her cousin wore. Each time her face connected with it, she felt her cheekbones bruise. There was no noise…no color…her body was utterly spent with exhaustion. Vibrations of yelling, shouting, and curses fell to deaf ears as she expected eternal rest to take them all. Then, the sun disappeared. Was this it? Beryl felt her body ease from Thorin's shoulder as she was laid to rest on the cold ground. Where were they?

"Lass…Lass, are you all right?"

She knew that voice…yes she knew it. It was…it was… "Dwalin."

"Aye Beryl, it's me. Can you stand lassie?" His voice was just above a whisper, or at least that was how Beryl heard it. With everyone confined in one small space, the smell of sweat was overpowering.

"Fíli…Kíli…where are Fíli and Kíli…?"

When no answered followed her inquiry, Beryl's heart began to pound once more. The speed at which it increased, it filled her body with enough adrenaline to hoist her tired body from the damp earth. Beryl honed in on her senses to make things clearer. "Dwalin, where are they?" Staring up into the warrior's eyes, she followed his to the outside of the cave. So far only Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Nori, and Bilbo had made it to safety. That meant her husband and his brother were still out in the open…still a breath away from death. When had she been separated from them? She caught sight of Thorin, who was ever so coyly peering out of the thin opening of their shelter. "Do something!" She yelled at him.

The King under the Mountain shifted his body to glance over at Beryl, his expression caught somewhere between being pained and angered. "They may make it yet."

Beryl's fists clenched at her sides, her body shaking from exhaustion and anger herself. "They are your _sister's sons! _Your nephews…and you would leave them to be _slaughtered?!"_

Thorin stood then, his face grim. Stepping down from the upper part of the cave, his eyes burned into her core—ripping her strength from underneath her. "What would you have me do? Place their lives against the others? What of Ori? Is he not worth just as much? Every Dwarf here knew the risk, just as each of them is willing to die for the cause…"

The princess looked to Balin, Dwalin, and Nori. Each face she took in and the expressions they held, only reinforced what Thorin had said. Bilbo's seemed to be the only one with a glint of remorse in his eyes. "So that is it? No life out there is worth stepping beyond that threshold to save?"

"He went after _you_." The voice of Nori broke the silence that followed Beryl's question. His head was nodding towards Thorin.

Beryl's heart grew hard as she realized Thorin Oakenshield had saved her, leaving the rest for dead. The sheer hatred that coursed through her built to the point of not being able to turn back. By Mahal she hated the way he looked at her. Moreover she hated whatever connection to her mother he sought through her. Beryl despised him for it all. "What King leaves his kin to death and ruin? You are a _coward_…"

Dwalin's eyes shot dagger's into Beryl's back. They may have held a connection of friendship, but foremost Dwalin was loyal to Thorin.

Thorin towered over her then, frightening her with his darkened azure eyes. The words he spoke were naught above a whisper. "I made a _promise._ I took an oath to protect Kóna's children."

Beryl did her best to match his authoritative demeanor. "Then _break it."_

When silence fell upon the cave once more, it became apparent no one was going to do anything about the dwarves still outside. Beryl stood awestricken at the self-absorbed audacity which she may have expected from Thorin, but never from the other three. Something snapped inside of her as the shouting from outside the haven grew more desperate. Pulling the dirk Fíli had given to her from her boot, she darted without warning towards the opening; her legs hardly able to carry her. It was a risky and stupid act to pursue in such a frail state, but the thought of her kin's blood upon her hands was her driving force. With her small stature on her side, Beryl easily slipped through the hands of Dwalin, though the shorter and swifter Nori had taken hold of her ankle just as she was about to breach the cave's walls. With one swift and painful—for both she and Nori—kick to the face, Beryl was free and in the open once again.

Lungs still ablaze from the horridly long run she had just endured; Beryl brushed her matted hair away from her sweating brow and looked out over the open vastness before her. The figures of Ori and Oin and Gloin, with Dori not far behind, were clear to see. Bombur to her surprise darted past her just then. He had been the fastest and made it safely inside the cavern. Bifur soon followed Bombur's lead, sliding feet first into the hole. Bofur had found himself caught up in the grasp of an orc, who did not live long once entangled with the toy-maker in combat. The Blue Mountain dwarf proved his worth in those fast-paced moments of battle. After cutting down both the warg and its rider, he sprinted as fast as he could after his brothers, stopping when his eyes met Beryl's. "Come on, Beryl…inside we go!"

She pulled her wrist from his hand and shook her head fiercely. "Not without Fíli and Kíli."

Bofur's brow pulled together in confusion, then gave way to acceptance. A small grin sprawled out over his features as he came to recognize the small flame in her heart. The small fire that was barely lit, now given room to breathe, was bursting forth in a blaze. To act on courage and love, no matter how hopeless the outlook may seem, was the best way to resolve oneself to it… "Alright lass…not without the lads then." He stepped in front of her, his own hammer guarding her and standing firm against their assailants. Bofur would stand and fight with Beryl and they would either die trying to ensure Fíli and Kíli's delivery unto them or succeed in winning their security.

Beryl didn't recall how many wargs lay slaughtered at Bofur's feet, nor did she want to know. Her eyes honed in on the horizon. Every figured that emerged from behind it, she prayed to be the living bodies of Fíli and Kíli…yet as each dwarf passed over Bofur and her, Beryl's hope began to fade. It all seemed utterly lost on her. The heirs of Durin were gone…nowhere to be found. And had Thorin simply pulled them along and left her behind…they might still be alive. Tears poured from within her at the thought of Fíli dead. Regret pulled at her heartstrings as she cursed herself for not giving their union a chance to rival the very foundations of their people. Beryl cried, for the opportunity lost at making him see her in a different light. With the prospect of love fallen from grace, Beryl dropped to her knees and let her weapon fall from her hands. Why did losing him hurt so badly?

"Az badu men, look!" The excited voice of Bofur, called down to the princess.

Beryl fought with herself, daring to hope what she saw with her tear stained eyes was true. Just beyond a pair of jagged rocks, the sight of Fíli and Kíli broke through her sorrow. Bloodied and bruised as they were, they were _alive._ _Fíli_ was alive. The flame within her small stature which had nearly been snuffed out, grew so wild that strength returned to her and she stood, gripping her weapon in her hands.

Never trained in the art of combat, Beryl knew nothing of how to hold or even wield her weapon; it hardly mattered. Within all of Durin's Folk there was an instinct. There was a specific desire and need to hold within their hands a means to bring desolation upon their enemies. It was a power so great that the minds of Men and Elves alike, could hardly summon a thought to comprehend the driving power behind it. The Dwarves were a proud people and Beryl was no exception. In her heart beat the courage and desire to protect the ones she loved…she _loved._

Had she loved them? Beryl's heart was pounding in her head as it screamed the answer at her. Yes! It shouted. Yes, you love them. You love them above all the gold in Erebor and more fiercely than your titles and wealth…You love _him._

Beryl ran out to meet them with struggled speed. Her body was running on the emptiness of fatigue, but closing in around the brothers were wargs and orcs. Beryl would not leave them to torment and suffering. In the muffled daze she found herself fighting, the thumping of Bofur's feet followed not far behind her. She dared not look back to see him though, for her eyes were secured on Fíli's. He too met hers and in his gaze was the most horrified look she had ever seen. They were nearly together now…just a few more paces…

"Beryl, go back! What in Durin's name are you doing?! Bofur take her back!" Fíli yelled, cutting into an orc atop his mount. Kíli shot an arrow true, right into the beast's skull.

"Beryl!" Kíli shouted, already snapping the end of an arrow into the bowstring. "I can't protect Fíli's arse and yours at the same time! Go back with Thorin and the others! Go!"

Bofur had been called from Beryl's side, swiping up at a warg who nearly crashed down on top of Kíli as he boasted over his skills. Beryl stood there, staring at her husband, who pulled a sword from the chest of an orc. "Go back Beryl! Heed me. I can't risk your being hurt."

The Dwarrowdam couldn't move as she watched her husband cut through the filthy creatures as though it were second nature to him. His skills impeccable, though for a moment he faltered as his eyes widened to the point of bursting from his skull. "Kíli! Kíli, shoot it! NOW!"

Cursing from the three dwarves in front of her ensued as she turned slowly around, coming face to face with the largest warg she had ever seen—never minding she hadn't seen a warg in person until that day. Its rancid breath poured over her; the teeth stained with the blood of innocence. The orc atop it was sneering and laughing at Beryl's petrified state. Bofur and Fíli were too far away…Kíli was in hand to hand combat…this was it…she was going to die…

No.

Beryl's scream drove the beast back for a fraction of a second, enough time for her to thrust her dirk inside its mouth. Albeit her strength was not up to par to kill it and even if it had been, the skull and tissue of the creature was thick, and Beryl's arm untrained. Slowly the beast thrashed about in pain, undying. As it fell to one side, its jaw clamped around Beryl's arm, up to her shoulder. The pain was so intense, her screams ceased within moments, and her world fell to darkness…her torso and neck drenched in her blood and the beast's. She could hear Fíli screaming, begging her to stay awake…to stay alive…

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**A.N.: **Thanks everyone who reviewed and Favorited/Followed. Seriously, I may not get around to P. M. everyone who reviewed, but truly its the best thing in the world to see I get them from you guys. Makes my day when I'm feeling crappy. :)

I wanted to add in the first part, hoping to give everyone a better insight again, to Thorin's attachment to Beryl.

I hope everyone can see the spark of love in the air for Beryl and Fili...though who knows if Beryl with even live now? Harsh.

Please leave a **REVIEW** if it fancies you. After all, you guys are the main reason I update this story. Knowing you love it makes my heart soar.

_**Az badu men: **My Lady- _Adressing a lady of rank.


	7. Menu zirup men

**TheLadyAranel**

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**The She-Wolf of Erebor**

**Chapter Seven:**

**Menu zirup men**

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_"NO!"_ Fíli shouted. He screamed. He begged.

Beryl's small frame curled underneath the beast that had her within its jaws. Had Fíli been just five feet closer, he might have been able to make a difference. If he hadn't taken so much time in combating his foes, Fíli may very have saved her from the fate she now faced. The world around him turned off…he felt nothing as he cut into the goblin pinned against a fallen warg. Falling to his knees, tossing his weapons without care, the heir of Erebor used his strong hands to pry apart the jaws of the monstrosity. Beryl's blood spurted from the stained teeth, splashing in waves over Fíli's face. His blue eyes glossed over with tears as a pleading cry built in his chest. Heaving in hyperventilated state, Fíli pulled the dwarrowdam to his chest and sobbing, he rocked her. Calling out her name once, twice, thrice, only to be met my silence was the most heart-shattering stillness the prince had ever been subjected too. This pain that coursed through him…this utter hopelessness…Beryl was dying in his blood soaked arms. What cruelty had he committed to deservingly be subjected to such a painful experience as this? He tried raising Beryl's head to his own; resting his forehead against hers. He gently released his hold, praying for her to remain close to him. When he did this, her head fell back and lulled in a death like unconsciousness. Fíli's body shook with tears, which turned over to screams of anger. "Someone do something!" His voice cracked, eyes pooling with hoary tears. "Someone…anyone…"

It was then that Bofur gingerly took the lifeless body of Beryl from Fíli, given the stillness in battle. He then nodded for Kíli to tend to his brother. Both Bofur and Kíli looked grim and did not wish to move, fearing if they did so they might witness the death of Dain Ironfoot's daughter. The eldest dwarf looked to the child in his arms and the mangled heap of flesh that was once her arm. He knew not if it could be saved, but if taken to Oin, then perhaps he could mend it well enough to save her life. Bofur voiced this to Fíli, who continued to sit on his knees, absorbed in the pain that was coursing through him. Turning to the younger brother, Bofur sighed. "Get him up laddie…I'll take Beryl forward. Won't be long before more wargs will be down on us."

Kíli looked on as Bofur hurriedly hauled Beryl away, her thick curly hair bobbing in the wind. Her locks were matted with blood, slowly dripping away to the ground in the soft breeze. It was a painful sight to behold; Kíli had guilty thought if it was the end of their adventure. If Beryl died, would Dain still support them? He scolded himself for even considering that reflection and tore his eyes from them. Looking to his brother, the youngest son of Durin picked up one of his brother's knives and crouched down, placing his other hand—which was holding his bow—on Fíli's shoulder.

Neither brother said a word. For the younger, it was difficult to see the elder in a massy fit of borderline hysteria. Kíli had never seen Fíli so tore looking…actually come to think of it; Kíli had never even seen his brother cry. Not even once. The look they shared then was one of understanding. In Kíli's brown eyes, there was a promise to stand by his brother no matter what outcome faced them. For Fíli, his eyes burned with a pleading that his brother would keep his word and pick him up should the need arise. It was in those moments a promise was made—a promise that was repeated continually throughout the years of their youth. The constant reminder to them both that no matter what may pass between them and how cruel the world seemed, parting them with the things they loved, they would have each other. The sons of Dís would never face anything alone. Fíli hooked his forearm to Kíli's and was pulled to his feet. Once riddled with incomprehensible emotion torture, the blonde dwarf stood fiercely in the face of whatever lied ahead. The pair sped off towards the cave, only surprised to see that Gandalf the Grey had joined them as they reached their safety.

The wizard stood tall, peering over the throng of dwarves that hovered over Oin as he tied a tourniquet—namely Bofur's belt—around the shoulder of Beryl. Gandalf had heard the brothers slip into the cave, spinning on his heel and reaching out to lay a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "She will live, Fíli…only if we reach the Hidden Valley. She is beyond Oin's skill to heal in this cave. Only Lord Elrond of Rivendell might save her." Gandalf's expression was one of caution; afraid the dwarves might yet again refuse the refuge offered by the Elves of Imladris.

"Then we must go," Fíli's own eyes burned with irritation, "I care not if it's by the hands of Elves that she is saved."

Gandalf offered a small smile, hidden by the sadness that grew within. The grey wizard had not the heart to tell the dwarf prince that his wife may not live. Her blood was still seeping from her broken body. Gandalf feared she may not have much left to sustain life. He shared this burden with a glance to Thorin, whose own disposition to the affair was clear enough. The King was not pleased with this venture to the Elves…just as he had not been pleased when Gandalf had suggested it the night of the meeting. Unlike the past however, Thorin could not object this time. His promise outweighed the hatred that burned deep within his heart. "Fíli—Kíli, help Gloin prepare a dray to move her. Dwalin and Nori scout ahead and clear the way of obstructions."

As Fíli went about pulling a blanket from a satchel, tying the four corners to two different posts, his uncle's voice was lost to him. Fixed on the body of Beryl as he went about his work more quickly than Gloin and Kíli put together, he drifted to the day he received the news that he was to be wed to the dwarrowdam before him. He remembered the anger and resentment he felt…he remembered it all… … …

_"Why not Kíli?" Fíli sat in his family's home within the __Blue Mountains__. Dís, Thorin, and Balin—Kíli had conveniently slipped off—were all sitting across from Fíli at their dining table. "Why not propose Kíli first?"_

_Balin could see the anger forming inside of Thorin, while Dís was fighting the demon inside that longed to keep her son home and unwed, and at her side. "It would be an insult I'm afraid. Dain Ironfoot only has one daughter, and to offer Kíli as a suitor would not bode well."_

_"He is an heir of Durin, just as I am." Fíli fought the reasoning offered to him._

_Thorin sighed, "The chance of your brother ever sitting upon the throne of our father's is slim to none, Fíli. This task is put to you."_

_Fíli felt his gut tighten. Part of the young dwarf wanted to plead with his mother to end his uncle's incessant pursuit of this harebrained idea. If anyone understood his hesitation, it would have been Dís. He knew better than to do this however. It would only make him look weak and teasing would ensue from anyone who caught wind that Fíli son of Dís was still very much attached to the dwarrowdam. As if he was still suckling her breast. He would have to fend off his uncle by his lonesome. "Why don't you offer yourself then—it would be another hundred years before I would ever sit upon the throne."_

_Dís momentarily shook her head, pleading with her son to keep quiet. She rested a hand on her brother's shoulder, trying to ease whatever pain her son might have unknowingly afflicted upon him. "I understand your hesitation, Thorin…" She paused, taking in a deep breath. "But maybe offering your hand…"_

_Thorin's head turned to his sister, meeting her gaze with eyes that could not believe the words his ears had heard. "Kóna's daughter, Dís?…I could not. Besides, I am an old dwarf now…well past the time of desire to have sons. No, I will remain true to my oath and decision. The crown will go to your sons one day—had we not lost Erebor, Fíli would have already had a family of his own. These are our customs dear sister. Customs we have lost as vagabonds all these years in exile."_

_Fíli could hardly believe that he was hearing himself. "And what if I find her distasteful? If I harbor nothing in the way of emotion for her?"_

_Balin closed his eyes in defeat. There would be no subduing Thorin's rage, which was teetering on the brink as it was._

_The exiled King's strong hand gripped his mug of ale tightly, his jaw clenching. "Then put a child within her belly and then take a mistress which pleases your eye."_

_Dís's eyes betrayed her pain at her brother's words. Fíli knew his uncle had no idea what his mother had gone through…the endless nights he had sat with her by their hearth. All while his father was out in the bed of some she-dwarf, commoner no doubt. As far as Fíli knew, only his mother and he knew of what his father had been up to. Kíli may well have been clueless. "I wouldn't ever disgrace myself or my wife." Fíli's voice held a little more personal pain in it than what he would have liked to show to his uncle. Though when he saw the small appreciative smile on his mother's face it had been worth it. She would know her son was raised better than his father had been._

_"Then I suggest you get used to the idea of wedded bliss, dear nephew." Thorin glanced over at his sister, who nodded in silent agreement with her brother._

_"If Dain agrees, I will not attend the wedding." Fíli stated simply._

_His uncle took a deep drink from his cup, and then lowered it to the table. "We will cross that bridge, dear nephew, when we come to it. For now, we will summon a gathering of the seven clans." … … …_

Fíli had taken it upon himself to carry the two posts of the front of the dray by himself, his body facing away from his wife lying within it. From the south end, Kíli and Gloin were nearly sprinting to keep up with their ends of the stretcher, nearly tripping over their own feet. Kíli cursed at his brother, telling him to slow his pace or they might all go tumbling over the edge of the pathway. Gloin muttered that all the jolting was doing no good for the girl they were carrying. Fíli heard none of it. He only saw the bridge of Imladris and the hope it meant for his wife. That was where he needed to be and where he needed to get Beryl. He shouted behind his person to Thorin and Gandalf. The wizard made his way to the front of the party and led the rest of the way, steadying the blonde dwarf.

"It is best to remain calm, Fíli." He spoke as they walked. "Beryl will see the care she needs, but we must be precautious nonetheless. Do you hear me?"

Fíli nodded slowly. His mind was elsewhere… … … …

_Thorin and Balin had left. It was only Dís and her eldest son now, both quietly standing by their door after seeing their company off. At first, Fíli thought to stay silent, seeing if his mother would be the first to speak on the events that had just unfolded. When she hadn't, her son took up the opportunity. "It seems my life will be more like my mother's than ever expected."_

_Dís sighed heavily, meandering over to their kitchen, picking up a cloth and setting to wash the tabletop._

_Fíli had seen her wash that table hundreds of times as a bairn. It was so common place to the young child of Durin that he never once thought that his mother was born for more than that. In her youth, Dís had been the jewel of Erebor; a beautiful princess, worthy of the greatest suitors in all the Dwarven Kingdoms. As a child, his uncle had once told him that before the fall of their Kingdom, his mother was to be Queen of the Iron Hills, but that Dain had refused her after the mess with the dragon. He had taken a daughter of a nobleman instead; one that had the blood of the Iron Hills in her…Dain had married Fíli's future wife's mother. "Did you know her?"_

_Dís scrubbed at the stains upon the wooden surface. "Who is that, sweeting?"_

_Her son shifted his weight before stepping forward and taking his mother's hands in his own. He didn't understand why, but seeing her scrub away at that table was beginning to weigh on him heavily. Dís was never meant to subject herself to such work. Her hands were made for music playing, embroidering, and jewelry making. Not scrubbing, mopping, cooking, cleaning, and suffering. "Dís…Mother…did you know the late wife of Dain, from the days of old?"_

_The dwarrowdam frowned, falling to the bench beneath the table. She patted to the opposite side for her son to join her. "I knew Kóna, yes. Thorin and I both were there for the birth of her daughter, Beryl…your future wife."_

_Fíli recalled his mother and uncle leaving for the Iron Hills years ago…he was just a dwarfling himself then. His mother had taken Kíli, for he was just a babe. He nodded once, trying to picture what Dain's daughter might look like now, older._

_"She has the look of her mother," It was as if Dís had read her son's thoughts, "though her hair is not as dark as Kóna's…Dain left Beryl with some of his fiery color. I've never seen a bairn take to looking so much like her mother as her."_

_Feeling awkward, Fíli had trouble voicing his next question. His eyes fell from his mother's as he whispered, "Is she pleasing to the eye?"_

_Dís shrugged, amused. "If she has kept her mother's likeness than yes, she is. Kóna was my dearest friend, Fíli…and a beautiful dwarrowdam."_

_"What happened to her?"_

_"Child-bearing sickness, the midwives call it. After giving birth to her daughter, Kóna became ill. The bleeding never stopped. Eventually, she died from it." Dís's eyes filled with a pain then. It was a pain that drifted to her son who placed his hand over his mother's. "Promise me something, Fíli."_

_"Aye, kahgun…"_

_Dís smiled then. "Treat her well, Fíli. Remember who you are and remember who she is. Our world is much different than the one she was raised in. Respect her…for my sake if no one else's."… … … …_

Fíli hardly recalled the tension between the two races as they entered the Last Homely House. There had been horses surrounding them…yes. In his panicked state he had almost forgotten the horns he had heard whilst still in the cave. Rivendell's elves had slaughtered the rest of the orc pack as they had made their way deeper into the Hidden Valley. These must have been the same Elves atop horses, and though he wanted to shout out to them, he held his tongue. Remembering what Gandalf had said to him regarding this place. It would do Beryl no good for Fíli to thrash out angrily at the hesitation of Elrond's people. All the prince could do was wait out the introduction brought by Gandalf, as the Lord of Rivendell gracefully descended his horse, looking down to the wounded dwarrowdam. It was clear then that formal introduction and inquiry to the dwarves' arrival in Imladris could wait. And although the look on Elrond's face betrayed his utter confusion and curiosity of Beryl, he motioned for his men to move the princess to a room deep within his halls. As her husband tried to follow, Elrond held his hand for him to stay.

Gandalf offered comfort. "There is nothing you can do for her, Fíli. She is in the hands of the elves now…it is best if we all try to stay on their good sides. For they have offered us shelter and have given Beryl their utmost attention. I would suggest we all show our gratitude as humbled guests." His voice grew louder towards the end of his small speech, particularly focused on Thorin who seemed rather put out.

"When can I go to her, Gandalf?" Fíli's eyes watched the elves carry Beryl until they disappeared from sight.

The wizard looked beyond the small stature of Fíli and to his brother, Kíli, who also shared in his brother's worry. After all, Beryl was his sister. "I'm sure Lord Elrond will inform you when she might take visitors. For now, why don't you enjoy some elvish wine? It might do you well."

Kíli nudged his brother's arm, walking up the stairs to an open pavilion, following behind the others. Bilbo had found his way beside the brothers. "Do you think she will be all right?"

"We can all hope for the best. Mister Gandalf says Lord Elrond is one of the greatest healers in Middle-Earth." Kíli spoke with surety, mostly for his brother's sake.

However, Fíli was preoccupied again with his thoughts. This time involving more recent memories with his curly haired lass… … … …

_Another two weeks passed since the night Beryl had voiced to Fíli that she was willing to give their marriage a chance to blossom. Two weeks of her trying her best to prove to Fíli that although she was not born to his world, she was trying to be a part of it. In that time, the golden haired prince had seen his wife set aside her pride and humble herself in ways he never thought possible. She had traded her trousers for a skirt, one she had packed for travel, which pleased Fíli. For although he hadn't loved her or even cared deeply for her, Beryl was still his wife. So the way those pants had hugged her curves, displaying her, bothered him. What she was and what she had, Fíli felt was for his eyes alone. He hardly missed the way Ori and Nori looked at her and what he tossed aside—not wanting to admit was jealousy—Fíli convinced himself was fueled by pride. This was the first of many feelings for Beryl that crept inside of him._

_The second and most prevailing action by Beryl was brought on late at night. Fíli had been given watch duty. The others were soundly sleeping. There had been no reason for his wife to be awake, but all the same she had been. To his surprise, she had even climbed to the sit next to her husband, who stared out over the vast darkness beneath them. Neither of them had said a word to one another for over an hour, but the warmth each of their bodies gave the other was comfort enough. For Fíli, it was quite pleasant to have her company. Yet for all the subtly of the night, he had not expected from Beryl any form of conversation, let alone action._

_"Your hair is a mess, dear husband." She whispered, her delicate fingers teasing the loose strands of his braids._

_Fíli was frozen stiff, unsure of what to do with himself. What in Mahal's name was she doing?_

_"Its lopsided you know…" Her hands trailed to the leather strap securing his hair at the nape of his neck. "Unbecoming for the heir of Erebor to look so…homely."_

_He felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. Fíli took the pipe from behind his teeth as he realized what she was getting at. "Homely is it? Forgive me, I've been on the road so long, I haven't had time to care." His own voice was playful; jesting._

_"That is no excuse." She returned the smile, her cheeks growing rosy as she untied his hair and unwove the braid. Beryl's heart threw itself into her mouth as she stared at her husband then…his hair cascading over his handsome features like the mane of a lion. Bravely she crawled behind him, taking in hand the portion of hair she released. "I'll just have to do it properly." For the moment, Beryl was thankful Fíli could not see her face. It was beet red from her act of audacity._

_At the same time, Fíli was just as thankful. No dwarrowdam aside from Dís had ever plaited his hair. Even then, that was when he was just a_ _bairn. It was a deep sign of affection, usually saved for private settings, between a dwarf and his dam. "Aye, lass…I suppose you will."_

_Fíli was amazed at her gentle touch. He relished in the feeling of her hands within his hair and as he closed his eyes, his heart began to throb with a sensation he had never felt before. It only intensified when Beryl had pulled her hands away, having finished her work. Something had happened then. Deep inside of Fíli, a resounding voice shouted to darkness within him. It appeared in the softness of her voice, her eyes, and even those freckles he had once thought to be unsightly. Her imperfections, her annoying ways of irking him, and now…now in the lovely gestures she offered him. Fíli knew when he had said he could never grow to love her; it had been a lie within a lie. Despite what Thorin may have done to him, his heart reconciled to its desires. He had been denying himself—fighting on with the resentment he harbored for his uncle—that he had somewhere along the way, found Beryl irresistibly delicious. She had been attempting for days now to capture his favor and Fíli for the first time, was willing to openly show it._

_He grinned as she gasped when he laid his body back, resting his head in her lap. "For the crowned princess of Erebor—if only in name—you too look rather homely in appearance, lady wife."_

_Beryl's cheeks burned. Her small body coursed with a small heat. Fíli's face staring up at her from where he was…on her lap…it was the most intimate situation she had ever found herself in. Her privates began to throb slightly, Fíli's blue eyes sparkling up at her. "I suppose I should remedy that…"_

_Fíli sat up then finding his way behind her, running his fingers through her thick hair. "Allow me, wife."_

_Beryl closed her eyes as she felt Fíli's hands in her hair. His gentle touch, his breath so close to her, it was all driving her mad. Inside of her, there was a storm raging and for once in her life, the thought of letting him in and giving herself to him, seemed natural. It was an idea she had come to yearn into making it a reality. Then, just as she was reaching an internal joy of imagining such a union, a black wave crashed down on her. They had not consummated their marriage… Beryl was only Fíli's wife in name… and she wasn't convinced Thorin and the others knew that. She voiced her concern to Fíli, who had finished plaiting her hair and frowned. "What Thorin doesn't know, will not hurt him."_

_"Does it not bother you?" Beryl reached behind her head to feel the braid. She smiled. "They assume that night in the Shire…"_

_"Beryl…I wasn't sure I could even commit to this—whatever it was then and whatever it is still. I told you once I wouldn't lay with you in only desire. I intend to keep my word." Fíli fought himself hard for the right words to use. He realized now, he couldn't find it inside of himself to remain cold and indifferent towards Beryl. "I've come to care for you and in such a short time…I'm still trying to figure all of it out for myself. This quest…the details of it, which you have been sheltered from…Beryl it leaves this marriage falling into the second slot. It hasn't and can't be my main focus. But I do care for you, just as I care for Kíli. Disregard what I told you that first night, would you?"_

_Beryl nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "I understand, Fíli. Your care is well met by my heart."_

_Fíli sighed, feeling awful. He knew the truth had to be said, but he hated the way it made Beryl break beneath it. "Are you cold?" His question was further off topic, but not without purpose. When Beryl nodded, he moved closer and wrapped his arms around her… … … … …_

Hours had passed before Fíli had been given word that he might see Beryl. He had been told by Elrond that she was still asleep, but on the mend and alive. Fíli's eyes danced with relief, and he left to see her. Upon entering the healing room however, the prince of Erebor studied his wife and fell to her bedside. Bandages covered her neck, torso, arm, and hand. As Fíli laid his own palm over hers, he wept at what he saw. The wounded hand held only three digits: her smallest finger, index, and thumb. From her neck, evidence of a horrendous scar was already taking root; purple and grotesque from bruising. But despite all of this, she was alive. His Beryl was alive and he would never take that for granted. He rested his head on the edge of her bed and wept. He wept until his lungs ached and no more tears flowed forth.

"I'm sorry Beryl," he whispered, "I'm sorry for everything. Your own stupidity, my stupidity…I'm sorry for ever doubting whatever this is…Beryl… Gajut men Beryl…Menu tessu…Men lananubukhs menu_._" He paused then, reaching up and brushing her brow with his thumb. "Menu zirup men."

* * *

_kahgun- Mother_

_Gajut men- forgive me_

_Menu tessu men- you're everything to me_

_Men lananubukhs menu- I love you_

_Menu zirup men- you complete me_

**A.N.: **Okay, like wow...this chapter took its toll on me. Follow/Favorite as always guys. I love you all so much for your reviews, please keep them coming. They are my life-force. I'm so spent from four hours of typing I just can't put anymore down...rejuvenate me with **REVIEWS!** Hehe ;)

Seriously, you all are amazing for your words of encouragement and suggestion. Blessings.


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